The Love Pirate
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Sherlock, from my Journey story,dreams he is Lord Sherlock Holmes, on a mission to find and capture the infamous criminal turned pirate, James Moriarty. When his cabin boy gets food poisoning just before the ocean voyage, he needs a replacement. Fortunately, a desperate young woman disguises herself and applies for the job. Sequel to "The Princess & the Scholar." Lightly M-rated.
1. The Love Pirate

Thanks, M Sherlock for beta'ing the original draft.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had been finding it difficult to sleep. Molly was on nightshift again and he really hated sleeping alone these days. It took so long to do so without the warm body of his wife beside him.

He remembered the last time he had found himself unable to sleep, when Molly had suggested reading a book. Sherlock headed upstairs to the spare room to find one from the bookshelf which held Molly's assortment of novels. The Barbara Cartland novel had been successful last time in getting him to sleep. In fact, it had prompted a rather lovely dream. Perhaps that would happen again.

 _I do seem to have a predisposition for vivid dreams,_ Sherlock thought. He remembered them too, when he really wanted to. He was also rather good at using his mind palace to reflect on things. There was that one particularly vivid mind palace reflection he'd had when he had situated himself in his seat on the plane that was to take him on that one-way mission, which was certain to lead to his death within six months, at least by Mycroft's estimate, and his brother was never wrong about those types of things.

That had been such a weird, high-induced reflection. He had been himself in the Victorian era. The funniest thing was that Molly had been disguised as a man who worked in the morgue, and he had not even deduced it.

Sherlock suddenly realized he'd never told Molly about that strange mind palace dream. He'd have to do that when she arrived home. She'd probably find it amusing, especially when he told her that her manly disguise did not fool Watson in the dream. Really, that silly moustache should have been a dead giveaway, and the not-quite-masculine voice.

Oh well, it was time to find a book to read.

Sherlock selected one at random. _Oh_ , he thought, _how interesting that it is called_ _ **The Love Pirate**_ _, given that I so much enjoyed pretending to be a pirate as a child with Victor._

He smiled at a memory of Victor and himself playing pirates by the lake at Musgrave Hall. The memories no longer evoked the ache they had at first, when his memory of Victor had been restored during the horrific events at Sherrinford.

Sherlock soon lay in bed comfortably, reading the novel. This time, he was only partway through the book when it slipped from his fingers and he fell asleep.

In time, he began to dream.

…/…/…/…/…/…/…/ …/…/…/…/…/ /…/…/

"Well, brother mine, I have a mission for you."

Lord Sherlock Holmes was sitting back languidly in his favourite chair in the parlour at his brother's family manor.

His older brother, Mycroft, Earl of Holmesbury stood looking down at him.

Sherlock yawned and clasped his hands behind his head. "So soon, Mycroft? I just found that damned missing racehorse in Dartmoor last week." _Rather anti-climactic, that one, not even a murder in the end,_ he thought to himself ruefully.

"And a nice job you did of it too," admitted Mycroft, with a slight smile. "This mission is definitely more perilous. In fact, if I might be so bold as to say it, I believe it may be a ten on your scale."

"It involves murder?" asked Sherlock, removing his hands from behind his head and leaning forward in his seat with excitement and clasping the arms of the chair.

Mycroft pursed his lips and stepped back a pace from his brother. "Well, not exactly. It involves a murderer, however."

Sherlock sat back again, deflated, as his lips turned down a little "I suppose that is better than nothing. Hardly a ten though."

"Oh, you will change your mind when you hear who it involves," said Mycroft confidently, with a superior smile at his younger brother.

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and drowned his fingers impatiently on the side of the armchair. "Well spit it out then, Mycroft!" he exclaimed, irritated. If there was one thing he couldn't abide, it was people who took forever to get to the point. He closed his eyes and waited.

"It involves James Moriarty."

That got Sherlock's attention immediately, and his eyes snapped open. "The criminal mastermind turned pirate who has terrorized crews and murdered uncooperative men on ships sailing for Dover, before pillaging them for their cargo? The man that has people so terrified to sail for the English coast for fear they will encounter him in international waters?"

Mycroft pressed his lips together and nodded solemnly. "One and the same."

He turned his head as a knock sounded at the door.

"Ah, that will be our tea and cakes." There was a note of satisfaction in Mycroft's voice as he said the words, and Sherlock was reminded of how much his brother enjoyed all things sweet and decadent. His rather portly figure was a testament to that fact. "Come in, Barrow."

A tall, dark-haired footman entered the parlour, holding a tray, on which rested a pot of tea, cups and saucers, sugar and milk, as well as a plate with a various assortment of cakes and biscuits.

"Shall I pour your tea, my lord?" asked Barrow, with an obsequious bow.

Sherlock looked over at the young man. Barrow had been in his brother's employ for several months now, but for some reason, he did not care for the young man, who seemed to always behave in a flattering, toadying manner towards his master.

 _Sycophant_ , thought Sherlock dscornfully to himself, as Barrow took the tray to a sideboard and began to carefully pour the tea into the cups.

Mycroft, however, did not seem to have a problem with the man, and continued his conversation with Sherlock as if they had not been interrupted. To Mycroft, servants were nothing more than parts of the furniture.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I have a mission for you," he told Sherlock, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at his brother, who had decided to tuck his feet under him and sit with his elbows resting on his knees, while steepling his fingers.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's disagreeable expression. He _had_ taken his shoes off, after all. He did not shift position, merely looked up expectantly. "Very well, I'm intrigued with the possibilities. What does the mission entail?." A mission involving Moriarty would certainly be a most perilous one, and Sherlock thrived on danger. In fact, Moriarty had conducted criminal activities on land before he became a pirate, and Sherlock was familiar with some of his past activities, although he had never encountered the man himself in person.

"It involves finding him on the high seas, and bringing him to justice," Mycroft informed him, finally deciding to sit down himself in a chair across from Sherlock. His expression was still annoyed, but Sherlock rather enjoyed annoying his brother, who was always a stickler for all the proprieties. Sitting with legs crossed underneath him was definitely a sore point for Mycroft, because _gentlemen_ should not do such things.

As his brother continued to give him the evil eye, Sherlock finally had pity on him and slid his legs back onto the floor. "Why now?" he questioned, with a raised eyebrow. "As far as I know, his activities have been considered untouchable, as he carefully eludes the jurisdiction of our naval fleet. That's why he moved his base of operations to the ocean, when rumors emerged that he was the mastermind behind several major criminal acts on land."

Mycroft gave an acknowledging nod and pulled his brows together, as he pursed his lips. "That is true, although he covered his tracks very well and his direct involvement could never be proved." His expression cleared somewhat and a smile tugged at his lips as he continued. "This time, however, he made a grave error."

Sherlock glanced over at Barrow, who was still fussing with the tea things, carefully spooning sugar into the cups. He returned his attention to Mycroft. "What error would that be?" he questioned, returning his hands to the side of the arm chair, absently drumming his fingers on it once again.

"He attacked a very important ship carrying precious jewels for Queen Victoria, and the attack happened within our jurisdiction. Not by much, but enough that he is now officially wanted for the theft of the treasure." Mycroft furnished this information smugly.

Sherlock looked at his brother thoughtfully, then asked, "And how do you propose I am to find him? I do not recall our family owning a ship that would rival his vessel, _The Black Pearl_."

Mycroft was obviously ready for this question. "This is a government sanctioned mission, Sherlock. You will be in charge of the fastest new schooner in the fleet, _The Sherrinford_." Sherlock could hear the pride in his brother's voice.

Barrow interrupted then, offering the plate of cakes and biscuits. Mycroft immediately selected one of the larger cakes and patted his rounded stomach. "Mrs. Patmore always knows what my favourite cakes are. Do thank her for me, Barrow, won't you?"

"Of course, my lord." Barrow bowed again to Mycroft, then offered the plate to Sherlock, who was pleased to see that Mrs. Patmore had also provided his own favourite snack of ginger nut biscuits. "Thank you, Barrow," he said politely, selecting two and immediately shoving the first into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

Mycroft crossed his legs and accepted his teacup from the footman, with a nod of thanks.

Sherlock accepted his own cup of tea and took a bite of his second biscuit, chewing more slowly this time. He tried to recall what he and Mycroft had been discussing before they have been interrupted by the footman. Oh yes, _The Sherrinford_. "A mission of this type is certain to be extremely dangerous. I presume a reward would be involved with the recovery of the treasure?" He took a sip of his tea, grimacing a little. Apparently Barrow had given him the one with three sugars rather than two, it was sickly sweet.

"Naturally. The reward would be enough for you to build a small fleet of your own ships. The jewels that Moriarty stole are considered priceless." Mycroft took a sip of his own tea and blanched. He looked over at Barrow, who continued to hover, holding the plate of cakes and biscuits. "This tea is not sweet enough, Barrow," he complained to the footman, who immediately took the cup and added an extra spoon of sugar.

"My deepest pologies, my lord. I must have accidentally switched the cups." He looked over at Sherlock. "Can I make you a second cup, my lord, if that one is too sweet for you?"

Sherlock waved him off impatiently, giving the servant a rather disdainful look. "That will not be necessary. Just have a care that you do not make such a mistake in the future." Mycroft really needed to find a better quality of servant than this incompetent one, he thought with derision. Once again he had to force himself to return to the conversation at hand.

Ah yes, a dangerous undertaking that promised great reward. Dangerous and lucrative - this mission was becoming more appealing by the second. "In that case, I shall require that some of my own people accompany me." He looked at Mycroft, who was taking another piece of cake, and waited for a response.

Mycroft chewed and swallowed a mouthful of cake before answering. "That depends on who your trusted people are, Sherlock." He flicked a crumb from the side of his mouth. "We have already spoken to Captain Greg Lestrade. He would captain the ship, although ultimately he would be answerable to you."

"That would be acceptable. I have worked with Lestrade. On occasion. Never knew his first name was Greg, however. For some reason I believed it to be Geoff or Graham," Sherlock remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He knew he was rather notorious for his ignorance when it came to first names.

"Well, who of your own people do you wish to add to this mission?" Mycroft asked, with his eyebrow raised in question, before popping the last morsel of cake into his mouth, and following it with another sip of his now sufficiently sweetened tea.

Sherlock pondered the question, furrowing his brow in concentration and pursing his lips. "There's Dr. Watson, of course. I am sure he would accept the position of first mate, and he is also a skilled doctor should the need arise for one. He is an able assistant, and my friend, besides."

Mycroft nodded agreeably. "Of course. I had assumed you would require his assistance, and planned to suggest he accompany you. Who else do you require?"

Sherlock offered his brother a slight smile. "I am aware this is a rather unusual request, but I simply must have my cook, Mrs. Hudson."

Mycroft frowned, and set his mouth in a thin line. "It is considered unlucky for a woman to be aboard a ship."

"That is pure superstition, and I set no credence to it whatsoever. Mrs. Hudson is an excellent cook - well used to dealing with cooking for large dinner parties." He darted a glance over at the footman, who had still not left the room, but was now carefully setting the plate with the remaining sweet delicacies on the sideboard. He returned his attention to his brother.

Mycroft huffed out a breath. "Cooking for dinner parties is vastly at variance from cooking with limited food supplies on a ship." Then he smirked slightly. "Oh well, It's your funeral, brother mine. When Moriarty sinks your ship, remember my words of caution." His lips twitched as he added, "Who is to say she will agree to this anyway?"

Sherlock leaned forward. "Oh, she'll agree. The woman treats me like a son. Where I go, she goes", he said confidently. He noted Barrow finally giving a last bow to Mycroft and exiting the room.

Mycroft merely rolled his eyes. "Is that it then for your demands?"

Sherlock took another sip of his tea as he considered who else he might wish to bring with him. "I shall also require a cabin boy to run any errands necessary or convey messages to the captain. I have a young protégé named Wiggins who has helped me on several occasions."

His brother let out a slow breath and nodded. "That can be arranged. He would need to stay in a cabin adjacent to yours if he is young. Sailors can be a bit rough. Of course, Watson would have a cabin nearby also."

He paused, then continued thoughtfully, after finishing his tea, with, "I suppose we would need to assign a special one also for the cook, if you bring Mrs. Hudson. She definitely cannot bunk with the sailors."

"Of course not," agreed Sherlock, finishing his tea also. "Well, how soon would you require me to be in Dover? I presume that is the port from which you will expect me to leave?" He felt the usual sense of anticipation rise within him at the thought of bringing another criminal to justice.

Mycroft's lips curved upwards in approval. "You presume correctly. The sooner the better; within the week. Speak to your companions and make certain they are willing to accompany you. I shall be in touch soon." He placed his now empty tea cup and saucer onto a small table which was beside his chair.

Sherlock rose from his own chair, walked to the sideboard and set down his cup, in order to grab a third biscuit. He did so love ginger nuts, and he had to admit, Mrs. Patmore was certainly a most excellent cook, although not quite as good as Mrs. Hudson, he felt. "Fine, I will speak to Mrs. Hudson this evening, and John and Wiggins tomorrow," he said, then made a display of tossing the biscuit in the air and catching it in his teeth.

The Earl nodded, and Sherlock departed soon afterward, feeling rather excited at the prospect of what would certainly be a battle of wits between the notorious criminal turned pirate and himself.

* * *

One week later, the arrangements had been made and Sherlock was staying with his friend John Watson at the best inn in Dover. It was the night before their departure.

Sherlock entered the dining room of _The Fox_ , in which were a number of round tables and glanced around. Several were occupied, there was an elderly couple at one, and three tables which consisted of only men. He assumed that some of them were crewmen from _The Sherrinford_ , enjoying a last meal and drink of ale before the journey on the morrow.

He selected a vacant table that was adjacent to one where a woman, a man, and a younger woman, possibly her daughter, sat. He did not pay close attention however, having no interest in women, most especially not _young_ women in particular. The older woman laughed at something, a high- pitched, simpering sound, and it grated on his nerves, making him wish he had selected a different table.

He sat at the table for ten minutes, waiting for John to join him as he mentally contemplated the mission. When John did not appear, he gave up and decided to order his meal alone. He was just in the middle of what was quite an exceptional dinner for an inn, when his colleague came up to him, looking rather irritated.

"Why are you looking so discomfited, John?" he enquired. "If anyone should be annoyed, it should be me, as I was expecting you to join me for dinner half an hour ago." He spoke reprovingly, and John frowned at him.

"Circumstances beyond my control, Sherlock," he responded, flinging himself down onto the seat across the table from Sherlock

At Sherlock's raised brow, he expelled a breath through his nose and continued. "It's Wiggins. I've just come from examining him. He took ill as soon as we arrived, and I have determined him to have a severe case of food poisoning. He ate some of that rabbit stew at the last inn at which we stopped for a meal, and I suspect the meat was off." Sherlock's mouth dropped open in consternation at John's words, but he allowed his friend to continue, uninterrupted. "Fortunately he was the only one of us who ate the stew. Nevertheless, we have a problem. He will not be fit enough to sail with us at dawn on the morrow," he concluded, looking at Sherlock with a perturbed expression.

Sherlock scowled and slammed a fist on the table in annoyance. "Damn! We cannot tarry any longer, in order for him to recover. I suppose the only thing we shall be able to do is search for a local lad this evening to take on the responsibilities of the cabin boy."

John looked at him rather sympathetically.

Sherlock huffed and ran a frustrated hand through his dark, curly hair before he ordered, "See if you can find a replacement who does not suffer from seasickness and is an experienced sailor. There must be _someone_ here who can accompany us. Offer him one hundred pounds. That should provide ample incentive to compensate for any inconvenience at needing to make such a precipitate departure."

John stood and walked over to Sherlock, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Of course, Sherlock. I'll make enquiries. Sorry mate, these things happen." In an obvious attempt to lighten Sherlock's now dark mood, he added, "By the way, Mrs. Hudson is aboard the ship preparing the menu, limited as it is, for the crew. She is already complaining that there is not enough variety."

Sherlock's lips quirked involuntarily as he thought about his elderly cook. He could well believe she would be complaining about the lack of resources. "That can't be helped. We must have primarily non-perishable items for the journey. Fresh food will not last long."

"I understand, and I did explain that to her, but she still isn't pleased," his friend remarked, with a long suffering sigh.

Sherlock shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it. She would just have to make do. For now, he was more concerned about finding an alternate cabin boy.

John left the table and Sherlock ran his hands once more through his hair in agitation. He liked things to be done in an ordered manner and did not care for his carefully laid plans to be disrupted. He only hoped a replacement for Wiggins could be found in a timely manner. It would be most tiresome if he had to convey messages to the captain himself on board the ship.

It was some time later, when Sherlock had retired to his room after dinner, that there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he called automatically from the chair at which he was seated, thinking once more about Moriarty and his plan to apprehend him.

"It's John, who else would it be?" came his friend's voice, from the other side of the door, carrying a tinge of amusement. "I've brought you a replacement cabin boy."

"Come in then," Sherlock responded, as he smiled with relief. John always came through for him.

John opened the door and entered the room. He pulled on someone's arm and brought him over to face Sherlock.

Sherlock stood from the chair and gave the young man standing before him an appraising glance. Short, probably about 5' 3" and quite slim. The boy seemed shy, unable to meet his gaze directly. He had rather long eyelashes, and nicely shaped eyebrows, which led to a rather effeminate look, Sherlock thought superciliously.

Rather apple-cheeked, a fairly small mouth, and the poor lad was biting his lip in obvious anxiety. Sherlock could see a little bit of brown hair peeking out from under the cap the boy wore. All in all though, the young man looked fairly presentable, dressed neatly in a shirt, a woolly jumper and britches.

My goodness though, for a young lad he seemed to have a rather disproportionately large bulge in those britches. _Perhaps he is suffering from nervous excitement_?

Sherlock had heard of such a thing, although he had obviously never experienced the distressing condition himself. Anything of a sexual nature was abhorrent to him.

"Lord Holmes," began John formally, "may I introduce you to your new cabin boy - Hooper." He turned to the lad. "Hooper, this is Lord Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well now, there you have it. The first chapter in my latest Victorian style romance. Are you looking forward to seeing what comes next?

Did you recognize the names of Mycroft's footman and cook? If you happen to be a reader of my Journey story, you will understand the connection.

Depending on what kind of response I get to this, I may try to publish a chapter each week, possibly two if enough people show interest in it and let me know they want more.

Please also note - I am aware that the correct way of showing a dream is to italicize it, but I have decided to not do this, because then it becomes more difficult to italicize thoughts. I really dislike reverting to normal text in order to show a thought. I also think in general that is more difficult to read italicized text. So please bear with me, and I hope you do not find yourself confused when I leave the dream to return to the "real" world of the modern Sherlock.


	2. Escape

**Author's note:** Thank you to those of you who took the time to review the first chapter. I hope to hear from more people as the story goes along. Now it is time to see how Molly fits into the picture.

* * *

Lady Molly Hooper was trapped.

For the paat several days, the heiress to a large fortune had been wondering how she could escape the evil plans of her stepmother, Lady Florence Hooper, who had married Molly's father under false pretenses shortly before his death.

The first Lady Hooper, Molly's mother, had been a nurse who contracted tuberculosis from an infected patient. After Molly watched her mother die a slow and painful death from the disease, the young woman was drawn to studying the human body and researching diseases. Lord Hooper encouraged his daughter, by purchasing books for her about the human body and medicine, but refused to allow her to take up a profession in the medical field, fearing his daughter would also become a victim of the highly contagious diseases that were prevalent in hospitals.

"I'm sorry, my dear." Her father had stood in the drawing room with his arms folded across his chest, frowning. "You are my only child, the last remaining link I have with your mother. I will not allow you to endanger yourself the way your mother did. If I had known the dangers of her continuing to work after we wed, I would have insisted she not work at all."

"But, Papa," Molly had entreated, with a downward turn to her lips, has she reached her hand pleadingly towards his arm. "Mama loved her work. She loved to help people. I wish to make myself useful as she did."

Lord Hooper had been unmoved, as he gave her a stern glance. "Molly, I have indulged your interests, provided you with books and journals on medicine and science, but I could not bear to lose you. I refuse to allow you to risk your life in such a way as your mother did." Then his gaze softened. "Perhaps one day you will marry a man who appreciates your intellect, and you can discuss such things together."

Molly had sighed and capitulated, because she knew her father loved her and wanted what was best for her. Secretly though, she longed to be able to discuss all the things she had learned with someone else. Lord Gerald Hooper was not interested in things of a medical nature. After Molly's mother died, he had taken to long bouts of depression, and had begun to drink heavily, to escape his sorrow.

It was due to his drinking habit that he had found himself married to a schemer named Florence Foster. Somehow she had managed to befriend the lonely Lord Hooper over several weeks and procure a marriage licence as well as the services of a disreputable parson who was willing to marry her to the widower when he was under the influence of alcohol one fateful night. Trying to prove he was married under false pretenses would have caused a scandal, so Lord Hooper had resigned himself to his miserable fate with the woman who had ensnared him.

The new Lady Hooper had made no secret of the fact that she despised Molly. As Lord Hooper's daughter, Florence resented the fact that Molly was entitled to his fortune. Lady Florence Hooper, however, had wanted all the money for herself. She was a gambler, and a grasping socialite who thrived on attention.

Much to the older woman's disappointment, Lord Hooper was uninterested in social gatherings, and Florence found herself unable to attend any of the balls given by the Beau Monde, because her husband refused to attend them himself.

Nonetheless, she managed to procure invitations to other, less formal entertainments and spend Lord Hooper's money in an outrageous manner.

When Lord Hooper had died unexpectedly several months earlier in a carriage accident, the new Lady Hooper was infuriated to discover that his will provided only an annual sum of £2000 for her, and the Hooper mansion in Mayfair. The rest was left in trust to his daughter, access to which she would receive upon her marriage or 25th birthday, whichever came first. To most people, an annual allowance of £2000 would have enabled a person to live in relative comfort for the rest of their life, but this was not good enough for Florence.

So the woman hatched a plan. She had taken a new lover named Charles Magnussen who was a disgraced Swedish former newspaperman.

Molly had overheard a conversation between the two, which caused her distress when the man was visiting Florence secretly a few days earlier.

The drawing room door had been slightly ajar, and Molly had been passing by when she heard her name mentioned.

"That daughter of Gerald's is a constant thorn in my side, my dear Charles. Thanks to her, I was unable to inherit my late husband's fortune," came the voice of lady Florence. It was interesting how her real voice sounded quite common, rather than in the more refined manner in which she spoke in public company. Molly heard the sly note in her stepmother's voice as she continued. "However, I have an idea of how I can get the money."

"My dear Florence, do tell," came the light, accented baritone of the Swede. Molly thought his voice had an oily sound to it.

"As you know, I am legally the chit's guardian. That means I can control her until she marries, or, until she turns five and twenty. After that, I will no longer have access to her or her fortune. Her birthday approaches, mere weeks away. Therefore I have determined my only recourse is to see that she marries someone who would then take control of her fortune."

There was a dry note in Magnusson's voice as he responded. "I suppose you are asking _me_ to fill the position as suitor for the girl's hand?"

Molly listened with dread as the conversation continued.

"Of course, darling. Once you are married, we will have access to her money. We can then arrange a little 'accident' to befall her and you can marry me instead. All that lovely money will be ours." Molly shuddered in the shadows as she listened to be greedy note in her stepmother's voice.

Magnussen gave an evil chuckle. "A nefarious plan indeed, my love. I like the way you think. So how do we enact this plan?"

"Easily. I already have the same parson available who married me to the little chit's father. Culverton Smith will do anything if you grease his palm with enough money," came the confident response.

"And how shall we convince your stepdaughter to marry me?" inquired the man, and Molly bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood.

"I have already told her we are going to take a holiday to Dover. Culverton Smith has a small parish near there; it is where I married Gerald. You will meet her by chance, throw a few flowery compliments her way, woo her and propose." Molly's face drained of color when she heard the next words. "If she refuses to marry you, we will just kidnap her and take her to the church. I have access to certain medicines that will prevent her from causing any trouble."

"Ah, my sweet love, you are brilliant. Let us celebrate our wealthy future. Kiss me."

Molly heard the sounds of unmistakable kissing and murmurs between the couple and hurried upstairs to her bedroom, feeling revulsion and horror over what she had overheard. She thought despairingly that she would be trapped. She could not run away. She had no money of her own. Florence had been telling the truth to Magnussen. She was Molly's legal guardian now and the only one with access to the late Lord Hooper's money.

Unable to formulate a plan of escape, Molly found herself now in Dover at the finest inn available, _The Fox_. Earlier, her stepmother had contrived a "chance" meeting with an "old friend" named Charles Magnussen.

"Oh, Charles, my dear," Florence had exclaimed upon seeing the new arrival at the inn. "What a lovely surprise to see you in Dover."

Charles had bowed before kissing the woman's hand. "I am delighted to see you too." Then he looked with what Molly considered a dead-eyed stare that disgusted her. His voice was pleasant however, as he said, "And who is this charming young lady?"

"Oh, it is my stepdaughter, Lady Molly. Isn't she just lovely?" simpered Florence, as Molly cringed.

When Magnussen reached out to touch Molly's hand, she had to prevent herself from shuddering at the revulsion she felt at his clammy touch. "Very pleased to meet you, Lady Molly. I would very much like to get to know you better. Perhaps we could dine together this evening?"

Molly gulped, but before she could say anything, Florence cut in, with an ingratiating smile. "Oh, Charles, that would be lovely. Please do join us here at seven."

Magnussen's smile did not reach his eyes. "I shall indeed be glad to do so." He offered a slight bow to the ladies and left. Even as he did so, Molly could feel the net tightening around her. Her stepmother's plan had begun.

That evening, the women had just been seated at a table when Charles arrived. Florence had instructed Molly to be gracious to the man, saying he was a dear, dear friend who had unfortunately come upon hard times. Molly wondered how her stepmother could think she was completely ignorant of the fact that the two of them were lovers. Then again, Lady Florence herself was of limited intelligence, quite unable to see past her own schemes. Of course, those schemes had still enabled the woman to succeed thus far.

As the three dined together, Charles Magnussen complimented Molly on numerous occasions, attempting to flirt with her. When he was not attempting to do so, he was holding lively conversation with her stepmother. It was during one of these times, when the man was thus distracted, that Molly noticed another man entering the dining room to sit at a table close by.

Molly drew in her breath. She had never seen a more handsome man. Actually, to be honest, she had limited experience with men in general. She had attended several balls as a debutante a few years earlier, but all of the men her age seemed rather vain and not overly intelligent. They kept their hair pulled back into the neat ponytail that was the fashion for men and wore clothes that showed them to be tulips of fashion, more concerned with appearance than anything else.

The man she saw at the next table, while well dressed, did not come across as someone who was overly concerned with appearance. In fact, he looked most unfashionable. His dark hair curled riotously around his head and locks fell upon his forehead in what Molly thought was a most endearing manner. No ponytail pulled his hair into order. She was sure he was a gentleman, though. He had high, aristocratic cheekbones and full lips. He also looked around the room as if the people within were somewhat beneath his notice. _Yes, he is definitely titled_ she thought.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye a blonde-haired man coming over to stand beside the handsome man. Without really meaning to, she shut out the buzz of conversation between her two companions, who were laughing over some shared adventure, straining to hear instead what was going on at the other table.

At first their voices were too low to be overheard. Then Molly almost jumped as the curly-haired man slammed a fist on his table.

"...Damn! We cannot tarry any longer, waiting for him to get well. I suppose the only thing we shall be able to do is look for a local lad this evening to fill the cabin boy position." Molly peeked at the handsome man from the corner of her eye and watched as he ran a hand through that magnificent mop of curls. "See if you can find someone who does not suffer from seasickness and is an experienced sailor. There must be someone here who can come with us. Offer him one hundred pounds."

Even as she listened, while her gaze refocussed on her companions and she kept a smile plastered on her face, Molly's brain began to whirl. For the first time she had an idea about how she might escape the evil plan concocted by her stepmother.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So Here we are, a little backstory for Molly. Doesn't her stepmother sound nasty?

Are you looking forward to seeing what she does next?


	3. Free from Fear

**Author's note:** I am a little late in getting this chapter up this week, due to having had a very busy weekend. I love to receive feedback from my readers. If you would like to have an idea of how much effort goes into publishing just one chapter or story, take a look at the post I made on Tumblr under my name GoodShipSherlollipop. It is entitled, "A day in the life of a legally blind fanfiction author." If you are one of the majority of people who never bothers to leave feedback on the stories you read, perhaps it will help you understand a little why we ask for it. It is the only pat on the back we receive for untold hours of effort to make a story fit for publication. Although detailed reviews are wonderful, and most appreciated, even the simplest words of encouragement (or critique) from readers, including guests, are better than nothing. I am very grateful to those few special people who are not shy in encouraging me, because you are the ones who keep me going. May God bless you for your kindness to me!

* * *

As Molly sat at the table, she wondered if she could convince her stepmother that she wished to retire early that night. Perhaps then she could find a way to disguise herself as a man. She could present herself as a replacement cabin boy. She would be safe on a boat, away from Florence's clutches. Once she turned five and twenty, she could reappear to claim her inheritance. The money she received for being a cabin boy would easily keep her solvent until then.

Molly absently nodded at something Magnussen said, still formulating the plan in her mind. She had seen a stable boy earlier in the day, tending to the horses at the inn. He looked to be about the same height and stature as herself. For the first time, Molly was glad about the fact that her breasts were not overly large and her height also lacking. If she could only convince the boy to sell her a change of clothes, perhaps she could succeed. But what could she offer in return? She did have a little pin money, not enough to do anything extravagant, Florence had made sure of that, but hopefully enough for a young boy to give her a set of clothes.

Suddenly she heard her name and focussed her attention back on the other two occupants of her table.

"Molly, aren't you listening? Charles has asked if we should like to take the air this evening. There are many entertainments around here." Florence gave her a cross look and Molly pressed her lips together.

"Actually, I am feeling rather poorly. I have a headache coming on and would like to retire early to bed," she lied, making an effort to put a weak note into her voice, and she raised a hand to her forehead as if she were in pain.

She noticed Florence was looking rather aggrieved, so she quickly added, in an effort to sound agreeable, "Perhaps we could do something tomorrow night instead? You should certainly spend the evening with your friend." She forced a flirtatious note into her voice as she added, "I am greatly looking forward to spending more time with Charles myself on the morrow, if he is available." She cast a coquettish glance at the man, who fortunately was completely taken in by her subterfuge.

He gave her a smarmy smile and said, "I would be most delighted, Lady Molly."

Soon afterwards, Molly rose from the table to go to bed. The other couple made their way towards the exit of the inn. As soon as they were gone, Molly put her plan into action.

First, she went to her room and pulled out a pound note. It was a risk, because she had very little other money, but she was desperate. Upon returning downstairs, she noticed the dark, curly-haired man was gone, but the blonde-haired man was talking to several people. _I will have to be quick,_ she thought rather anxiously, _otherwise he will find someone else to fill the cabin boy position._

Upon exiting the inn, taking care to see that her stepmother and Magnussen were nowhere in sight, Molly immediately went to the stables. To her great relief, she was able to find the young boy she had seen earlier in the day.

He was mucking out one of the horse stalls and gave a start when she approached him.

"Oh, 'ello, Miss, I didn't see ye there." The boy tipped his cap politely. "Can I 'elp ye?"

"I hope you can," she responded in a soft voice, glancing around to make sure nobody was about. Fortunately the stable seemed to be empty. "I am in need of some clothes."

The boy took off his cap fully and scratched his head, taking stock of her obviously expensive, elaborate gown and giving her an uncertain look. "Clothes, Miss? What would ye be needin' clothes for?"

Molly's eyes shifted again nervously, and she licked her lips. "I...I have made a bet with a friend that I can dress as a boy and she will not recognize me."

The lad chuckled. "Beggin' yer pardon, Miss, but ye don't look as if ye could pass fer a boy. Ye has very lovely, long hair."

Molly raised a hand to touch her hair and pursed her lips momentarily, before responding. "I would be needing a cap of course to cover that, but we seem to be around the same height." She gave the stable boy a winning smile and he blushed. "If you can procure me a set of clothes, including cap and shoes, there's a pound in it for you." She extracted the note from her small reticule and showed it to him.

The boy's eyes widened as his mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Cor blimey, Miss! A whole pound? I ain't never seen so much money in me life!"

"Well, it is an important bet, and you must promise to tell nobody of it either, otherwise it will be ruined." She gave him a conspiratorial look. "Nobody must know what I am doing. It would spoil the bet, and I am not sure how long it will be before my friend arrives at the inn. She only knows that I will be dressing up as a boy sometime during the next week."

"I'd be 'appy to help ye out," said the boy eagerly, with a longing look at the note she still held in her hand. "I've a change of clothes in the tack room that I put on after I'm done cleanin' the stalls. Me ma can get me some more if I tell 'er I be needin' more."

"Could you please get them now?" asked Molly quickly, hardly daring to believe her luck that this boy had clothes available for her. However, she had a feeling that time was of the essence.

The youth nodded. "I'll be roight back."

Molly waited impatiently, shifting from 1 foot to the other. It seemed like an age, but it was really only two minutes later when the lad returned with a pile of clothes. "Oi ain't got no extra shoes nor cap," he explained, "but ye can 'ave mine. That pound'll buy me a dozen pairs o' shoes and 'ats if I want 'em." He took off his shoes and cap and added them to the pile of clothes, then held out his hand.

"Thank you so much," said Molly gratefully, before giving the boy a stern look. "Now, mind you tell nobody about this. Otherwise I will get in trouble for making the bet, and my father will insist you return the money." She extended the pound note to the boy who took it and gazed at it in wonder, before shoving it into his pocket as if he were afraid it might disappear.

"I'll be quiet, Miss, I promise!" he exclaimed, giving her a cheery wave as he got back to work, now both shoeless and capless.

With a feeling of triumph, Molly went back inside the inn, taking care that nobody was looking her way.

Upon reaching the safety of her room, she hurriedly removed her gown. Fortunately, she was not corseted, as Florence had deemed it unnecessary to incur the expense of bringing a lady's maid along on the journey for just such a purpose.

She donned the boy's clothes. They were quite a good fit actually. The shirt was a little tight across her breasts, but the tightness served to flatten her curves, so they were almost unnoticeable unless someone were to really spend time in observation of her chest area. A baggy woolly jumper served to further hide her figure.

Molly plaited her hair quickly as well, and shoved it under the cap the boy had given her. That excess hair served to keep the cap quite secure in its position on her head, she noted with satisfaction, although several loose tendrils that were too short to put into the plait peeked out from beneath the cap. These she was not concerned about.

Molly contemplated discarding her drawers and wearing the provided britches alone, but realized she did not really wish to feel the coarse fabric directly on her skin, so she decided to just pull the britches over her drawers. Socks and shoes were next. The shoes were a little large, but Molly was glad it was not the other way around.

Finally, she surveyed herself in the full-length looking glass. She thought the transformation quite successful. She looked much younger than her four and twenty years, could easily pass for a boy of seventeen who did not yet have facial hair. Then she noticed something else. Her britches were decidedly flat, no sign of what a boy or man would have in that region. How could she amend that?

She hit upon an idea - she had a pair of silk stockings that she wadded up into a ball. It was perhaps a bit larger than she would have liked, but she had no time to think of an alternative. Molly shoved the stockings down the front of the britches, where they made a rather prominent bulge. _Nobody could possibly think of me as a woman now,_ she thought in some satisfaction.

Molly left her room, locking it behind her and hoping her stepmother would not unexpectedly decide to visit her again that night. She thought it unlikely, but said a quick prayer anyway, that God would protect her and see that she was able to successfully escape.

Then she went in search of the blonde-haired man she had seen earlier. Fortunately, he was still in the inn, looking decidedly disgruntled.

She approached him, trying to make an effort to walk like a boy, not a woman. She tapped him on the shoulder and said, remembering to lower her voice, "Excuse me sir, I couldn't help but overhear you asking if anyone would be available at short notice to take on the position of cabin boy for a ship leaving at dawn."

"That is correct," said the man, narrowing his eyes slightly, as if to assess her.

She cleared her throat nervously. "I also heard you are offering the sum of one hundred pounds for the inconvenience of such a precipitate departure."

The man looked at her, a little startled. She probably should not have used such big words. _Darn my large vocabulary._

He merely responded with, "That is also correct."

"Well, as it happens, I am a good sailor," she lied, offering him a small, hopeful smile. In fact, she had no idea if she was a good sailor or not, having never been on any type of ocean faring vessel, but that was a problem she could deal with if the time came. For now, she just had to get the man to take her on as cabin boy.

His gaze swept over her once again, and he looked rather thoughtful as he creased his brow and asked, "How old are you, young man? Wouldn't your parents be upset about you leaving in such haste?"

She widened her eyes slightly, trying to look genuine. "I'm seventeen sir, and am an orphan." _Well at least half of that is true,_ she thought. "I just happened to come here tonight to look for work as a stable hand, but when I overheard you talking, I thought I'd prefer to be on the ocean."

The man stroked his chin and pulled his lips together. "What's your name?"

Darn, she hadn't thought about that. She supposed she could use her real last name, as they were sailing the next morning and nobody would know who Lady Molly Hooper was. But first name? She needed to keep it close to her real name, in case someone called her by name, so that she would respond to it.

"It's Hooper, sir, Maurice Hooper, but people call me Morry."

He nodded, seeming to come to a decision. "Very well, then, Morry Hooper, you are in luck. I am rather desperate right now." He expelled a long breath before continuing. "I warn you though, I cannot tell you how long we shall be upon the ocean. It could be days, it could be weeks."

"That's fine with me, sir," she responded, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

"You may call me Watson. Come now and I will introduce you to the person to whom you will be reporting." He indicated with his head that she should follow him.

He led her upstairs and knocked at the door of a room, entering upon being bidden to do so.

Molly bit her lip nervously. She had succeeded in fooling Watson, but would she be able to convince the handsome, dark-haired man that she was a young boy of seventeen?

Watson took her arm and drew her forward so she was staring directly into the face of the man in the room. Up close he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had been from the opposite side of the other table earlier. His blue-green eyes were arresting, and she looked down quickly, afraid that he might guess she was a woman. Her heartbeat accelerated, and her mouth felt dry, even as she began to chew on her lower lip.

She felt the man giving her a long, lingering look from head to foot, before Watson spoke.

"Lord Holmes, may I introduce you to your new cabin boy - Hooper. Hooper - this is Lord Sherlock Holmes."

She had been right then, he was a titled man. _Sherlock, what an unusual name._ The name Holmes rang a bell though. Hadn't her father talked once about someone with a similar name who had a high-ranking position in government? He had referred to the man as being " _the_ British government" in fact, as if he were more important than Queen Victoria herself. Perhaps this was a relation, or the man himself? Still, the name Sherlock did not sound familiar. She fancied it had started with M, another unusual name too, which made it likely the two men were related.

Lord Holmes's glance flicked over her once again. "Hooper, I am pleased my friend was able to procure your services at short notice. We are rather in a hurry to leave on the morrow."

Molly deepened her voice again as she spoke. "Yes, my lord. I am looking forward to the adventure."

He offered a curt nod. "We shall be departing at dawn. Do you have any farewells to make first?"

"No, my lord. I am an orphan. I just desire employment." She tried to keep her tone sincere and casual, but the way he looked at her made her feel a little breathless. Oh, but he had a countenance she could gaze upon for hours and not grow wearisome of.

"If you like, I can take you to _The Sherrinford,_ and you may sleep there tonight, unless you have elsewhere to stay?" He raised a brow inquiringly at her.

"No!" exclaimed Molly in her normal voice, then she hastily deepened it again, hoping the man would just assume her voice had not yet come into its full masculine sound. "I mean, I just arrived today and had not made any arrangements for overnight accommodation."

He looked at her sharply and she feared he might have guessed at her ruse, but his expression relaxed after a moment as he commented, "Well, that is rather fortuitous. Have you been a cabin boy before, Hooper?"

"No, my lord," she told him honestly, casting her gaze shyly downwards.

He gave a rather impatient huff. "In that case I hope you are a quick learner. I do not tolerate fools well, and I expect my servants to obey me immediately when I give them an order." She looked up at him then. This sounded more serious than she had anticipated. He continued, "It is imperative that you do as I say without question. This mission I am about to undertake requires the utmost loyalty and no hesitation. Your life may depend upon it. Do I make myself clear?" His brows were drawn slightly together and his expression was very solemn.

Molly gulped. Definitely not a simple ocean journey then. _A mission,_ he had said. "Yes, my lord," she managed, biting her lip once again.

"Very well, let us go immediately and I will tell you more along the way." Sherlock turned to Watson. "Coming? The game is afoot."

"Of course, Sherlock," said Watson, and the three of them made their way out of the inn.

Molly had to force herself not to skip as she walked with the men - she was leaving, she was escaping. She was free from fear. Her stepmother would no longer be able to torment her or force her to marry anyone. With a silent prayer of thanksgiving in her heart, she followed the men to a carriage embossed with what was undoubtedly the Holmes crest. Then they were off to the harbour.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** Wasn't it clever of Molly to find a way to escape? How long do you think it will be before Sherlock discovers she is a woman?


	4. No Time for Love

Sherlock gazed thoughtfully at the young man sitting opposite him in the carriage. The boy seemed unwilling to look at him, obviously shy. What was it about the lad? he wondered.

Perhaps it was his rather narrow shoulders, a sign that he had not come into full maturity. Those long eyelashes too, they did not belong on a young man, they really made him rather - _attractive_. Odd, very odd.

The lad, sensing his gaze, looked up at Sherlock with his big, brown eyes, then hastily dropped them again. Yes, definitely nervous, and Sherlock did not know why. He didn't like not knowing why.

John tried to engage the young man in conversation, but was singularly unsuccessful, as Hooper replied in monosyllables. _What are you hiding? Do you have a secret past?_ wondered Sherlock to himself.

 _Are you trying to escape something or someone?_

Yes, that was probably it, he concluded. However, it was none of his business. As long as the lad did as he was told, all would be well.

They reached the harbour and alighted from the carriage. Sherlock led the way onto _The Sherrinford,_ and went in search of Captain Lestrade.

He found the man in his cabin, looking at some maps. The door was slightly ajar and Sherlock and John entered without knocking. "Good evening, Lestrade," Sherlock greeted him, and the captain looked up in some surprise and stood.

"Lord Holmes. Why are you here now? Are we still leaving at dawn, or do you wish to depart earlier?" He looked uncertainly at the pair.

"We are still leaving at dawn. I've brought with me a young lad, Hooper, who will be my cabin boy. He will pass messages back and forth between us as needed and run any other errands I deem necessary." Sherlock glanced over at Hooper who had shyly followed the other two men into the cabin. "Well, come on, lad, step forward so the captain can meet you."

Hooper hesitantly walked towards the captain, keeping his head down.

"Rather shy young lad," Lestrade commented to Sherlock, who nodded. "Well, son, pleased to meet you. I hope you will enjoy your stay on _The Sherrinford._ " Then he looked again at the young lord. "The Earl mentioned you were bringing someone named Wiggins, did yiu change your mind?"

"Wiggins fell unexpectedly ill, so I had to find someone in the vicinity to replace him. Hooper is new to the area and has nowhere to stay, so I invited him to come aboard this evening," explained Sherlock with a twist to his lips. "I assume Mrs. Hudson is downstairs in the galley?"

"Indeed she is, and she has already been making a nuisance of herself, asking for us to procure this and that for her fancy menus," Lestrade said with a rueful shake of his head.

Sherlock offered a small smile. "Mrs. Hudson takes pride in her cooking. She will want to make sure the crew is well taken care of."

John Watson, who had remained silent, just observing the conversation until that point spoke up with, "I can attest to Mrs. Hudson's cooking skills. "I have been privileged to experience her culinary creations on several occasions when visiting my friend." He pursed his lips briefly and looked at Sherlock. "Perhaps Hooper could even assist her when he has no other duties to perform."

"That is a fine idea," approved Sherlock, with a quick glance in Hooper's direction, before returning his attention to the captain. "Well, Lestrade, I am going to show Hooper to his room." He lifted a brow inquiringly. "I assume there is a small dressing room off of my own cabin he can use for this journey?"

"Of course, unless you have a valet with you," said the captain, with a grin.

Sherlock's lips tightened slightly before he answered. "Actually I was going to have Wiggins help me with that if I needed assistance. I assume Hooper will be up to the task, should I require it." He looked at the young lad who visibly gulped. Lord, but he was young. He didn't even have an Adam's apple to speak of. It was deuced mysterious why he should present himself as such a young boy and yet be hung like a horse.

Lestrade stood. "Let me show you your cabin, Lord Holmes. Then I'll take you to the galley if you wish to speak with Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock nodded, and the trio followed the captain.

Lestrade showed the nobleman to an opulent cabin that was probably at least the size of the captain's own cabin, if not larger. There was a large bed which dominated the cabin and an enormous wardrobe as well as other furnishings designed to make the cabin look comfortable. There was a small dining table, on which sat a chessboard, with a chair on either side of it.. There was even a wash stand in the corner. Bookshelves crammed full of various tomes lined one wall. The small dressing room next to it, which had a door to both the outside and to Sherlock's cabin was about one third the size and contained a narrow bunk as well as a chest of drawers.

Noticing the chest of drawers, Sherlock glanced at Hooper. "I assume you have no clothes to speak of?"

"No, my lord," admitted the young man, shuffling his feet and looking down in embarrassment.

Sherlock heaved a slight sigh and turned to Lestrade. "Do you think we can find anything else for him to wear? He really needs at least one change of clothes."

"I'll see what I can do," responded the captain, and his expression looked thoughtful. "I recall one of the crewmen is rather small of stature, although I'm sure his physique is significantly greater than Hooper's. We do have supplies for sewing torn clothes and the like, so perhaps someone aboard could make some adjustments. Would your Mrs. Hudson have any skills in that department?"

"I can do that," blurted out Hooper unexpectedly, and Sherlock looked at him in surprise. The young man blushed and added, "I...I used to watch my mother sew my clothes."

Sherlock considered his words and nodded. "Very well. Once we have procured a change of clothes for you, you can alter them to fit correctly if you feel you can do so."

"Of course, my lord," said the lad, somewhat eagerly, Sherlock thought.

"Well, I suppose we should head down to the galley now," remarked John, who had been silently observing the conversation up to this point. "Is my cabin nearby?"

Lestrade nodded. "Yours is on the opposite side of this one. There are medical supplies in there as well, should you have need of them, Dr. Watson, plus it has its own dressing room that could be used as an infirmary if necessary."

"Excellent," the doctor responded, with a quick glance at Sherlock. "Let's hope that will not be needed, however."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He knew what his friend was thinking. He had required the assistance of the doctor on several occasions for various injuries, but he was not anticipating any type of bloodshed on this occasion.

Lestrade then led the way down the stairs that led to the galley. Mrs. Hudson, upon Lestrade's hail, came from the galley into the small mess hall, wiping her hands on an apron tied around her waist. "Sherlock, dear," she said with the familiarity of an old servant, frowning slightly, "I'll do my best with the supplies, but I cannot cook to the standards I am accustomed to."

"I am sure your food will still be more palatable than that which most sailors are furnished with," Sherlock assured her with a casual wave of his hand, and she beamed at him.

"Who is this young lad then? Have you brought me a helper?" she asked, with a curious glance at Hooper.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "His name is Hooper, and he is to be my cabin boy. However, if I do not require him for sending messages to the captain or other such errands, I am sure he could help you - isn't that right, Hooper?" He cast a stern glance in the boy's direction.

"Yes, sir, I...I mean my lord," stammered the lad, a blush staining those apple cheeks.

Again, Sherlock had the distinct feeling the boy was hiding something. No doubt the truth would come out eventually.

"Well, I'm going to head back to the inn." he remarked, then looked again at the young man. "Hooper, I'll see you back to your cabin now. Come with me."

"I'll go ashore and see that the carriage is ready to return us to the inn," said John to Sherlock, immediately heading for the stairs.

"And I'll be back off to my cabin," announced Lestrade, doing the same.

Sherlock nodded a farewell to Mrs. Hudson and headed up the stairs himself, as Hooper followed him.

Upon reaching his cabin, Sherlock opened the door and waited for Hooper to enter. "Well, young man, I hope you will be comfortable enough here. I shall return in the morning. And," he added, with the ghost of a smile on his lips, "do not worry. Whatever is troubling you, I'm sure this voyage will give you a chance to think about things."

He saw the surprise in the lad's face as he replied, "Thank you my lord. I...well, I believe the journey will also be good for me."

"Well, good night." Sherlock placed his hand briefly on the young man's narrow shoulder.

"Good night, my lord," Hooper's voice was soft, hesitant, and Sherlock felt once again that curiosity about what the lad was hiding, but he shrugged it off.

Sherlock left the cabin and headed back to the carriage waiting on the shore, reflecting on the day's events. Despite himself, he found he was rather intrigued by Hooper. Perhaps it was the mystery that the young man presented. Sherlock prided himself on his observation skills. They had helped him many times during missions, and he felt sure there was something important he was missing in relation to the lad. "I always miss something," he murmured to himself. Of course, the missing piece always fell into place eventually,

On the carriage ride back to the inn, he went into his mind palace for solitude. His friend, John, was used to him doing it and did not try to talk. Sherlock's mind processed the upcoming journey.

Lestrade would be navigating to the last known position of _The Black Pearl,_ Moriarty's ship. The pirate's ship would undoubtedly have returned to international waters, awaiting other unsuspecting ships. Sherlock and Mycroft had discussed their plan at length two days earlier.

 _The Sherrinford,_ although ostensibly a sailing ship, actually had a steam engine. Once they were out on the open ocean, the steam engine would be engaged until they were able to spot Moriarty's ship in the distance. At that time the sails on the schooner would be replaced with shredded ones. The ship would appear to be in distress and Moriarty would hopefully come to investigate it.

It was not at all unusual for ships to be buffeted by storms, and left incapacitated. In fact, Moriarty's methods were most often attacks on defenseless ships.

Mycroft had furnished Sherlock with reports of other vessels that had been pillaged by the pirate. _The Black Pearl'_ would approach the distressed ships, ostensibly to offer aid, then men would board and subdue the crewmen, kill them if they resisted, take their cargo and leave the disabled ship behind.

 _The Sherrinford_ would be ready, however. If all went well, the well trained men aboard would surprise the pirates at their own game by having hidden weapons which they would then use on the invaders in order to subdue them instead.

It was rather fortunate, Sherlock reflected, that Moriarty was the type of man who liked being there "for the kill," as it were. He enjoyed seeing people suffer, and that meant that he would undoubtedly accompany his own crew of pirates when they came aboard _The Sherrinford_. Sherlock was certain that Moriarty's crew would surrender easily if their master was captured.

Once the pirates had been subdued and restrained, select members of _The Sherrinford_ crew could venture over to _The Black Pearl_ and demand the surrender of any remaining pirates. If luck was with them, they would be able to search the other ship and find the missing treasure at that time, and the mission would be successfully completed.

As soon as the carriage stopped moving when it reached the inn, Sherlock exited his mind palace and headed inside to his own room, indicating for John to join him.

Once there, he outlined his plan to John. His friend was, of course, rather dubious that things would be so simple, but he trusted the young lord who had always managed to extricate himself from the most dangerous of situations in the past.

"I'm a little skeptical about the whole thing, Sherlock, but if anyone can do it, I know you can," John said honestly., bringing a hand up to his face to stroke his chin.

"This is the big one, John," said Sherlock earnestly, running a hand through his hair and pacing the room. "If I can get the best of Moriarty, my future will be secure financially. I'd very much like to get out from under Mycroft's shadow."

"Does that mean you'd like to settle down and get married if you have the money to do so?" asked John with a quirk to his lips, as his eyes followed his friend's movements.

Sherlock laughed derisively and stopped pacing to face him. "God, no. Since when have I been interested in women? I have no time for the fairer sex. They are vapid, without a brain in their heads. Besides, I'm married to my work. It provides all the excitement I need in my life."

"It doesn't warm your bed at night, Sherlock," John pointed out sensibly, folding his arms.

Sherlock shrugged and smirked. "If my bed needs warming, I simply have a bed warmer placed in it." He walked over to a chair and sat in it, crossing his legs languidly.

John gave him a shrewd look. "I suspect the reason you have no desire to be with a woman is because you made a fool of yourself when you were sixteen years old over that neighbour of yours - Irene wasn't it?"

Sherlock frowned and huffed out a short breath. "I was a silly young fool. You know I saw her bathing naked in the lake that adjoined our parents' properties, and I had never seen a naked woman before. Of course I imagined myself immediately to be in love." He folded his arms defensively in front of him and thinned his lips at the memory.

"And you wrote her romantic poetry which she threw back into your face at the next ball where you were both guests," commented John, as Sherlock flushed. His friend insisted on bringing up the details of that embarrassing time on numerous occasions.

He scowled at John. "Why must you constantly vex me in this manner? I've long made my peace with that. The last time I saw the woman, she was a successful actress in London who had had a string of protectors, much to her poor parents' distress. I felt nothing for her when I saw her last, and that made me realise that romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for others, is not for me."

John sighed and walked over to the bed, perching on it as he surveyed Sherlock seriously. "All I can say is, I am most aggrieved to have left my Mary, behind. I will be very glad once this mission is over to return to her." He drew his brows together and spoke sternly, in a way no other man would be permitted to do to Sherlock, well, except for his brother. "So you had better succeed in this mission or you will have Mary ready to assassinate you. She's rather - _protective_ of me."

Sherlock snorted in amusement at that. "You are truly under the thumb, my friend. God spare me from all that ridiculous sentiment."

John blew out a breath and pursed his lips. "You know what, Sherlock? If you _do_ fall in love, I am going to say 'I told you so.'"

"That won't happen," the young lord said confidently, rising from the chair. "I have no time to think about silly notions like love. Now let us get some rest. 'Tis only a few hours before we must return to the harbour to set sail."

John raised his hands in surrender. "If you choose to spend your life alone, that's no business of mine."

Sherlock scowled. "I'm not lonely," he stated flatly.

John raised an eyebrow at him. "How would you know?" And with that, he left the room.

Sherlock stared after him for a few moments, then got ready for bed. After putting on his nightshirt, he climbed into the large bed. It _was_ rather cold, he reflected wryly. He had never thought of having a woman to warm it, but John had suddenly caused him to think about it, despite himself. Was he even capable of love, after the way his young, idealistic heart had been crushed by the wretched Lady Irene?

Although he knew for a fact he had merely been infatuated with her, not truly in love, he had not felt any stirrings of desire for another woman since, and he was now almost eight and twenty years old.

Well, this was not the time to be thinking about women anyway, he decided, as he settled himself more fully into the bed that certainly seemed colder than usual. The game was afoot, and he had a mission to complete.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, Sherlock seems a little suspicious of Hooper, although not unduly so. How long can she keep up the act?

Did you catch the bits of canon I inserted into this chapter? I always feel it necessary to add those little details, in order to really turn it into a Sherlock story. I hope you are enjoying the story so far and will let me know your thoughts on it.

I may or may not write any more stories of this type. I guess it will depend on whether enough people are willing to express their opinions as this one goes along. I may be wrong, but it seems less and less people are interested in Victorianlock AU's, or perhaps it is the general decline of the fandom which means less readers in general :(


	5. The Little Pretender

Molly was awake before dawn. The small bunk in which she had slept was not comfortable. As a lady of quality, she had been used to having an enormous bed in which to sleep, as soon as she had been old enough to leave the school room.

She missed the softness of her own bed, the bed warmers which were always placed there on cold nights. _The Sherrinford_ had not been built for the comfort of its occupants however, except for those special cabins, of which Lord Holmes's was one. Molly couldn't help wishing she could have slept in the magnificent bed that dominated the room next to hers. She had made her choice however, and at least she was free, for now.

She quickly re-dressed in the clothes of the night before, having taken all off except her drawers when she went to bed. She had contemplated leaving on the shirt, but had felt it might become too wrinkled if she slept in it. She regretted her decision somewhat, because the harsh woollen blanket had scratched her delicate skin and been vastly uncomfortable. Perhaps she could request a nightshirt to wear, if the captain could find one for the next night. It was too bad she had had to leave all her fine underwear behind at the inn. Even taking her lace trimmed drawers with her had been a risk, but there was no reason anyone should see them.

Molly exited her cabin from the door to the outside and stood on the deck, next to the railing. She could hear noises from the seamen as they called to one another, making preparations to set sail. She looked at the shore and saw in the pre-dawn light that Lord Holmes and his friend Watson had just arrived and stepped out of a carriage. Two coachmen were carrying two large cases and following the men.

She watched quietly from the deck as they boarded the vessel and passed her, going to their assigned cabins. Lord Holmes and his friend both nodded at her briefly in passing.

A couple minutes later, the four men came out on deck. The two coachmen returned to shore, while Lord Holmes and Doctor Watson flanked her.

The three of them watched as the gangplank was pulled, then Lord Holmes said, "Well, here we go. I'm off to see the captain and make plans." He departed, and Molly was left alone with Watson.

"How did you sleep, Hooper?" asked Watson conversationally, resting a hand on the railing as they watched the ship leave the harbour.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief, clasping the railing herself and looking out at the ocean, then answered, "As well as could be expected, considering the unfamiliar location."

They stood for a few moments, as the sky began to lighten in the distance behind them. Molly gave a start at Watson's next words.

"Well, it appears we have successfully escaped from whatever it is you needed to escape from." She noticed the way his head tilted a little, and the rather knowing expression in his eyes.

Molly's hands tightened on the railing. "I...I don't know what you are talking about," she stammered, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks.

"Of course you do," he insisted, leaning his head close to hers and adding in a low voice, "Women do not disguise themselves as men unless they are running from something, I am quite certain of that."

Molly gulped and released her hands from the railing to put them to her cheeks as she swiveled her head to look fearfully at the man beside her. "Are...are you going to tell Lord Holmes? Please, I beg of you, do not do so. I must get away, I must!" She pleaded in her normal voice, her voice rising a little on the last word, giving up the pretense of acting like a boy in front of him.

"If I had wished to do so, I would have told him last night," he remarked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder briefly, and she sighed with relief. "No, I could see you were desperate, and I thought to do you a good turn. Besides, nobody else was volunteering for the position," he added with a quirk to his lips.

She turned to look at him directly, knitting her brows and pressing her lips together. "How did you know I was not a man?"

Watson's lips curved into a grin, and he gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, there are several factors, most notably the ridiculous thing you put in your britches. Young men are just not usually built in such a magnificent fashion, when they have not yet started to grow facial hair."

Molly blushed and folded her arms defensively. "If I had done nothing, it would have appeared even less so that I was a man."

"Perhaps," agreed Watson, returning his gaze to the ocean. "You are lucky that my friend is rather distracted at the moment with this mission. If he was using his usual deductive skills, he would have seen through your disguise immediately."

"Then how can I keep him from finding out?" she asked a little desperately, drawing his focus to her again. She didn't want Lord Holmes to find out and have her returned to Dover. Then all would be surely lost and further escape impossible.

John turned and slid his glance over her body. "Well, for a start, you should put something smaller down your britches," he remarked, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket. "I see you neglected to put anything in them this morning."

Molly looked down at herself after taking the handkerchief. She had completely forgotten to add the silk stockings. Hastily she pushed the handkerchief into the britches and looked at the result. A much smaller bulge was visible.

"Much better," approved Watson, unsuccessfully trying to repress a smile. "I will keep your secret on one condition."

"And what is that?" she asked apprehensively, lifting a hand to twirl her hair, then dropping it as she realised she had no hair to play with because it was covered by the cap.

"That you tell me the truth about what you are running from." His voice was kind, but firm.

Molly chewed the inside of her cheek, and shifted from one foot to the other. "You promise you won't send me back? It would be a fate worse than death for me."

"My goodness, child, such dramatics." Watson rolled his eyes at her, but she suddenly felt a little better, sure he would not betray her confidence. It would be nice to have someone with whom she could be herself. "Now come along to my cabin and we can talk properly," he instructed.

Molly obediently followed Watson to his cabin. The cabin was the same size as that of Lord Holmes, although not quite as opulently furnished. He bade her sit on a chair as he settled into another.

"Now, tell me your story," he commanded her, but in a voice that was not at all harsh, so she relaxed.

Molly proceeded to tell him the whole story, from her father's death shortly after his remarriage, to the plot to marry her off for her fortune.

He listened intently, then stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I presume you are older than you look. How close to five and twenty and freedom are you?"

"Actually, my birthday is but a few weeks away," she admitted shyly. "That is the reason my stepmother wishes to marry me off in such haste to her lover."

John drew in his breath and his eyes widened. "You poor child, although I suppose I cannot really call you that now. I understand why you were desperate to get away." He pursed his lips. "I do have to warn you though. Eventually, when Lord Holmes is less distracted, he will discover the truth about you."

Molly felt fear creeping over her at the thought of being discovered and returned in disgrace to her stepmother. "How long do you think it will take him to realise it? Will we be far enough from land that he will not turn around?" She held her breath and twisted her fingers together nervously, waiting for his response.

Watson's forehead creased as he contemplated the question. "I think once we have journeyed above a day, it would not be feasible to return. At the very least, you should avoid too much conversation with him for the next day or so." He sighed, as if in anticipation of future confrontation. "He will undoubtedly be angry at being deceived, but when the time comes, I will stand up for you, if necessary."

"Thank you so much, Watson," Molly said gratefully.

She jumped slightly as a knock sounded on the cabin door, and Lord Holmes entered without invitation. "John, I was wondering-" his gaze alighted on her, and he continued, "Ah, there you are, Hooper. I was just about to ask if John had seen you." Molly found it hard to breathe, seeing the man again. His turquoise eyes were so arresting, and they seemed to see right through her. She found herself unable to continue looking at him, lest he should somehow discover her attraction to him and discover the truth about her too soon.

"Hooper and I have been having a nice chat, getting to know one another," remarked Watson casually, rising to his feet.

"There's plenty of time for that," Lord Holmes told him rather impatiently. He addressed Molly then, and she had to look up at him. Oh, but he was so much taller than she, and she was at a further disadvantage from her seated position. He positively towered over her. "Hooper, Lestrade has had some clothes delivered to your cabin, as well as the sewing supplies, if you wish to make use of them as soon as possible. I am sure you would like to be able to change out of those clothes when you have the opportunity."

Molly swallowed. Why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome. Her heart was positively pounding, and she longed to run her fingers through that dark, curly hair. She forced herself to respond. " Yes, my lord," she said, remembering to affect a deeper tone to her voice. "I will go to my cabin now."

She rose to her feet as well and found herself much closer to the young lord than she would have liked. He stepped back slightly, seeming suddenly flustered. "Before you do - what is your first name?"

Molly was disconcerted by the abrupt question and began to answer "Mol-" before catching herself quickly and remembering the name she was calling herself, "Maurice." Then she added, "But people usually call me Morry."

Lord Holmes nodded, not seeming to have noticed her slip. "Would you prefer to be called Hooper or Morry?"

"Whatever you wish, my lord," she told him, surreptitiously wiping her damp palms against her britches. Oh, he was handsome, she thought again to herself. Too handsome for her own peace of mind. How was it he affected her so when she barely knew the man?

"Very well then, I think I shall call you Morry as you are such a young lad. Come along now," Lord Holmes said imperiously in a manner that indicated he was obviously used to being obeyed. He swept from the cabin and Molly followed him timidly, with a last glance at Watson, who was looking rather amused. Molly had the distinct feeling the man was feeling pleased to have discovered something before his friend had. He undoubtedly walked in Lord Holmes's shadow most of the time.

Molly walked behind Lord Holmes and was about to pass him to go to her cabin door when they reached his own. To her surprise he asked, "Would you like to do the alteration of your clothes in my cabin? It is much brighter in there."

It was a valid point, she knew. Sewing required good light, and her cabin, even if it was lit by candlelight, would still be much darker than that of Lord Holmes. "Yes, thank you. That would be certainly easier." She ventured a small smile at him, and his lips twitched upwards just a little.

"Feel free to come into my cabin when you are ready. I shall just be reading."

'Thank you, my lord," said Molly humbly before she went to her cabin. She was pleased to discover two sets of clothes on her bunk including a nightshirt. The trousers were definitely too long and would need to be taken in at the waist. She would also need to shorten the sleeves of the shirt. Aside from that however, everything seemed perfectly serviceable.

On the bed were also several needles, two spools of cotton thread and a pair of scissors. Molly gathered up the sewing supplies and garments to alter and went into Lord Homes's cabin.

Lord Holmes raised his head as she entered and nodded to her, then returned his attention to his book. When she noticed what he was reading she exclaimed,

"You're reading _The Principles of Chemistry_! I have been longing to read that book." She had begun to talk in her normal voice in her excitement but quickly lowered it, hoping Lord Holmes would not notice.

"You are familiar with Dmitri Mendelev?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at her in evident surprise.

"Of course. His publication of the periodic table of elements is extraordinary." Molly suddenly realized she was betraying her educational background. "At least that is what I've been told," she amended hastily, unable to prevent the flush that crept up her cheeks. She really needed to think before speaking.

Lord Holmes gave her a quizzical glance but said nothing. Molly sat and began to work on hemming the first pair of trousers after determining the amount of inches by which they needed to be shortened. She was grateful for the good lighting in the cabin which made the task much easier.

For two hours Molly worked on the clothes until they were altered to her satisfaction. She occasionally glanced up at Lord Holmes who still seemed absorbed in his book.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips once she was finished, and Lord Holmes spoke, raising his eyes from his book.

"Well, Morry Hooper, when are you going to tell me what you are escaping from?" He gave her a penetrating stare.

Molly started and looked at him nervously. "I...I beg your pardon?" she faltered.

Lord Holmes's lips thinned as he looked at her. "Oh, come now, lad, I was not born yesterday. You are obviously not a mere servant. Your manicured nails show you to also be high born. There is no trace of dirt under your fingernails nor are your hands work roughened. Your voice is cultured as well and you seemed to have a far more extensive educational background than would be expected from a servant." He rattled off his deductions quickly and Molly's heart began to pound again, this time with fear, rather than excitement at his proximity. He set the book down carefully and added, "I deduce you are running away from an untenable situation."

"Please, Lord Holmes, I can explain. Don't send me back to Dover, I beg of you." She knew she sounded desperate, but he couldn't send her back, he just couldn't! Had he also realized she was disguising herself as a man? Then she thought to herself with relief, _probably not because he addressed me as_ _ **lad**_ _._

Instead of responding to her plea, Lord Holmes continued. "I will venture another deduction. By the precipitate manner in which you wished to leave Dover, I surmise you are trying to escape an arranged marriage? Perhaps you have parents who are forcing you into it?." He smiled smugly at her, sure of the accuracy of his deduction.

 _This is a truly intelligent man,_ Molly thought, wide-eyed. Thank God he still didn't realise she was a woman. She decided it would be best to admit that he was correct without revealing in which way he was _in_ correct.

She bowed her head and stared at the table in front if her. "Yes my lord. It is true. I am running away from an arranged marriage."

"In that case, you have obviously not been forthcoming with your true age, have you? You must be one and twenty at the very least."

"Yes my lord," she whispered, raising her eyes to his narrowed gaze. Dear heaven, she hoped he would not wonder why a man of that age still had no facial hair.

But Lord Holmes's thoughts seemed to be turned in a different direction as he pursed his lips. "I hope you understand, young man, that my discovery of your true station in life will not preclude you from performing your duties as cabin boy. You were employed in that capacity, and I still require your services in that manner." His tone was authoritative and despite herself, she both trembled and thrilled at the sound of his voice, like rich velvet with a note of steel beneath.

"Of course, my lord, I shall endeavour to do my duties to the best of my ability," Molly assured him, folding her hands together tightly so he would not see the way they trembled.

Lord Holmes nodded, apparently satisfied by the earnest note in her voice. "Very well, then we shall speak no more of this for now. Eventually I will require further explanation from you, however."

Molly gulped. At least he was not pressing the matter immediately. "I understand, my lord," she answered, as he picked up his book once more, apparently dismissing her.

Having collected her altered garments, Molly stood and asked hesitantly, "Do you require anything of me at this time?"

He raised his eyes to her. "Not at the moment," he answered.

She turned to leave, when his voice unexpectedly addressed her once again. "Have you ever been on a ship before, Morry? I have no pressing matters requiring my attention, so I can show you around before luncheon if that is something which would please you," he said rather kindly with a lift of an eyebrow, surprising her.

"I would like that," she answered shyly. "I will just take these things to my cabin."

When she returned, Lord Holmes put down his book and gestured for her to precede him from the cabin. She tried to tell herself that she was just interested in the ship, not the man who would be accompanying her. Nonetheless, as she looked at him, waiting for him to lead her around the vessel, she could not help but feel her traitorous heart beating a little faster at the prospect of spending more time with the handsome lord.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Hmmm, do you think Molly might already be falling in love with the handsome Lord Holmes? You may notice that is how I referred to him in this chapter, because it is Molly's POV, and she does not think of him as Sherlock, at least not yet. As a reader, do you find it easier to see chapters written from one POV, or do you prefer the more common method of showing the inner monologue of the main characters in general?

What did you think of the fact that John realised she was a woman? I thought it would be fun to do that, because Watson knew it before Holmes in TAB. Sherlock is definitely getting closer to the truth though, isn't he? At least he has figured out that his cabin boy is hiding something. But he is definitely missing the biggest piece of the puzzle!

Share your thoughts with me and other readers. When and how do you think the truth will come out?


	6. The Daring Deception

Sherlock allowed the cabin boy to precede him from the cabin, then closed the door after himself. The young man intrigued him. He was feeling rather pleased with himself for having deduced the truth about him. He only hoped the boy, well he supposed he was a young man if he was over one and twenty, would be a good sailor in the event they encountered any storms.

Sherlock led the youth around the deck of the ship, explaining where the stern was, the bow, the port and starboard. The boy was fascinated by the ship's masts, and the sails, which were enormous.

"If you look up, you can see the crow's nest. Somebody sits up there with a telescope to watch for other ships in the vicinity."

The young man looked upwards in fascination, holding his cap firmly to his head, apparently concerned that it might fall off if he leaned his head back too far. "I think I would suffer from vertigo if I was up that high," he commented.

Sherlock smiled indulgently at his words. The boy was certainly not fit to be a sailor. Then he said, "It might interest you to know, Hooper - Morry, that this is actually a steam ship. The sails are more for show than practicality."

Morry looked at him in surprise. "May I ask why?"

"I am on a government sanctioned mission to retrieve some treasure which was stolen by a notorious pirate. I do not anticipate any problems, but I must inform you, as I told you before, there may be danger. If something happens, and the ship is captured, or worse, you must do exactly as I command, and I will endeavour to protect you."

He saw the boy draw in his breath nervously. "I… I will follow any instructions you give me, my lord, if the occasion arises."

"Very good," approved Sherlock, giving the boy a thoughtful look. He had to admit, he was quite impressed by Hooper. Despite the nervousness he could detect, the young man seemed quite brave. Who wouldn't feel apprehensive at being told they could be put in mortal peril? He glanced at his pocket watch and saw that it was time for luncheon. "Morry, would you go to the galley and let Mrs. Hudson know I am ready for luncheon? Tell her you will be eating with me as well. Then you can wait until the meal is ready and bring it upstairs for us."

"Yes my lord," said the youth, making his departure.

Sherlock headed back to his cabin and waited. He still felt there was something he was missing in regard to Hooper. "I always miss something," he murmured to himself.

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and John Watson poked his head in. "Were you planning on eating in your cabin or heading downstairs to join the crew for their luncheon?" he questioned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, you know full well that I consider myself to be a high-functioning sociopath. I do not behave well in the company of others. Far better that I eat my meals separately."

John looked around, furrowing his brow at Sherlock. "Where is Hooper then? Are you planning on having him eat with the crew?"

"Of course not," said Sherlock, frowning. "The lad is high-born and wouldn't last five minutes with the likes of them. I am sure he would be shocked by the colourful language as well."

"Ah, so you noticed he is high-born, then," remarked John, as his lips twitched into a smile.

"I'm not a fool, John," Sherlock responded loftily, folding his arms. "It was a simple matter of deduction. I merely observed his hands and saw they were the hands of someone who has not known hard labour, or _any_ labour for that matter."

"That's true enough," said John in a sympathetic voice. "I feel sorry for him. He is running away from a rather desperate situation."

"And what would you know about that?" asked Sherlock, giving his friend a sharp glance. "Have you spoken with the lad of his situation?"

John lifted and eyebrow and smirked. "Of course I did. Remember, we were talking when you walked in on us earlier."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at his friend, and pressed his lips together. "If you know the situation, why don't you tell me about it?"

John shrugged nonchalantly, not at all intimidated by the steely note in Sherlock's voice. "I'm sure you can deduce things for yourself, oh great detective," he said, a little mockingly, before adding, much to Sherlock's annoyance, "I must be heading downstairs now for my own luncheon."

Sherlock scowled. He _hated_ it when people kept secrets from him. "Why can you not tell me now?"

John was unmoved. "It is not my tale to tell, Sherlock. You must wait until the boy is ready to tell you his story on his own."

Sherlock huffed in defeat. "Very well. I'm sure I shall discover the truth shortly."

"Yes, I am certain you shall do so. Well, I'll be going now," said John, hastily taking his leave, as if concerned about being subjected to further interrogation.

After his friend had left, Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin. Why was John being so cagey about the situation? He didn't know, and he didn't like not knowing. He was still lost in thought when he heard the door of the cabin opening. He looked up and saw Morry standing there with a tray of food.

"Well, set it down on the table here and we can eat," he invited. As they ate, Sherlock observed the young man. His movements were very graceful. Once again, Sherlock thought he seemed rather effeminate. His voice was quite a high tenor one as well, unlike Sherlock's own deep baritone.

After luncheon, Sherlock headed to the captain's cabin to talk with Lestrade. The last noted position of Moriarty's ship was three days hence, so Sherlock resigned himself to being bored as he waited for the adventure to begin.

The following day, a severe storm hit _The Sherrinford_ , and the schooner was knocked about severely. Sherlock was a good sailor but the rocking of the ship had even him feeling somewhat nauseous at times. Poor Morry Hooper seemed particularly adversely affected. _Apparently, the lad is no sailor,_ mused Sherlock again, _at least not in these unpleasant conditions._

It was dinner time, and despite his illness, the young man insisted on going to the galley to get a meal for Sherlock and himself.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Morry, you should just rest. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will see that someone brings us dinner." He looked outside the window of the cabin. Rain was pelting down and he was a little concerned that the young man, with his slight stature, would not be able to make his way down to the galley in any case.

"No, Lord Holmes, I'm the cabin boy" the young man insisted, with an expression of determination on his face that Sherlock couldn't help admiring. He was a plucky one, that was for certain. "This is one of my duties. I will be back with the dinner."

Sherlock would have protested again, but Morry yanked the door open to the cabin and went outside before he had a chance to prevent him, closing the door behind himself.

Sherlock tapped his fingers on the table anxiously. He could hear the wind howling outside, as the rain continued to come down as if the heavens had opened. What if the lad was washed overboard?

For fifteen minutes he sat and waited. He was just about to go outside and investigate for himself, when the cabin door opened and Morry walked back in unsteadily, holding a covered tray.

"Sorry it took me so long," the young man said, rather breathlessly. Sherlock noted that his face was extremely pale and he was soaked to the skin. He took the tray from the lad and turned around to put it on the table.

When he turned back to Morry, it was to see the young man swaying on his feet. Before Sherlock could react, the lad had crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

"Dammit, lad, I knew you shouldn't have gone out there," Sherlock said aloud, even though Morry was in no condition to hear him. Well, he thought, there was nothing to be done except carry the boy to his bunk. Sherlock picked him up easily, noting his slight frame. He was actually rather amazed, and a little relieved the boy had _not_ been washed overboard.

He strode to the smaller cabin and laid Morry on the bed. As he did so, he dislodged the cap on the young man's head. It was quite dim in the smaller cabin, but enough light filtered through the door of Sherlock's own well lit cabin, that he was able to see a mess of plaited hair tumbling out of it. Suddenly, Sherlock realised what he had been missing.

This was no cabin boy, it was a _girl_. He looked down at the petite form, the shirt that was plastered to the girl's skin. He saw the unmistakable curves of breasts. _Oh God_ , he thought, _not a girl, a_ _ **woman**_ _._ It all made sense now, rather well-defined eyebrows, lack of an Adam's apple, fairly high voice, lack of facial hair and that impossibly large bulge in her britches. How the hell had he managed to miss the signs? he wondered angrily to himself.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him. "What…what happened?" she asked, looking around in confusion. He noticed that she had forgotten to deepen her voice. It merely sounded breathless and frightened.

"You fainted," he told her, as his lips tightened, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

I'm…I'm so sorry," she faltered, a hand clutching convulsively at the blanket on which she lay. "I didn't mean to."

His brows drew together in an intimidating fashion. "I'm not angry about you fainting. I'm angry about you _deceiving_ me," he hissed.

He saw her eyes widen in fear, and she swallowed. "Wh...what do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"I mean that you're a bloody _woman_ ," he grated, grasping one of her wrists. She winced and he realised he was holding it too hard, and relaxed his grip slightly. "Why did you disguise yourself as a boy? And what the hell were you thinking? Did you think I wasn't going to find out eventually?" he demanded, looking at her sternly.

She struggled to sit up, but then fell back again on the pillow. "I…I just needed to get away. My...my stepmother was trying to force me to marry her lover," she said, and he saw tears spring to her eyes.

Suddenly, Sherlock's anger dissipated. He felt like a brute. She was obviously not in any condition to be talking at this moment. She was too weak and worn out from making the journey to the galley and back for _him_ , even though he had not asked it of her. "Look, I know you are not well, and further explanation can wait until you are feeling better," he said in a more gentle tone.

"Thank you," she whispered. Then he saw her teeth beginning to chatter and realized she must be cold, soaked to the skin as she was.

"You should get out of those clothes, and into some dry ones first," he told her in the same gentle voice. "I'll take off your shoes and socks."

"O...okay," she agreed. Her hands were trembling violently now, and she seemed to be having trouble with the buttons of her shirt, as he removed her shoes and socks.

"Oh, for God's sake, woman, let me help," expostulated Sherlock, pushing her nerveless fingers aside and then deftly unbuttoning the shirt. "Lift your arms," he commanded as if she were a child. Obediently, she did as she was told.

The material was so wet, that it adhered to her skin, and Sherlock realised he was going to have to slide the fabric to either side of the front of her body. He swallowed hard. _I can do this,_ he told himself. _I don't need to look._

He closed his eyes and moved the fabric to either side of her body. He then lifted the shirt up until it came away from her body. Unfortunately, her arms were still held fast by the damp sleeves. "Dammit," he cursed, opening his eyes to work off one sleeve, then the other. He tried not to look, truly he did, but curiosity got the better of him. The last time Sherlock had glimpsed the naked form of a woman had been all those years earlier, when Irene Adler had stepped out of the water of the lake.

He got a glimpse of small, perfectly curved breasts, and for some inexplicable reason, felt a surge of heat rise in his body. Then the woman covered her chest with her arm and whimpered, and he came back to himself. "Where is your nightshirt?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that his heart had also decided to beat faster.

"It...it's in the top drawer."

He nodded and searched for it, then tossed it to her once he had found it. "You need to take your britches off first," he ordered.

He flicked a glance at her and saw the feeble attempt she was making at pulling off the also soaked britches with her trembling hands. Impatiently he walked back to the bed and pulled them down unceremoniously. He noticed, to his relief that she wore drawers underneath, so was not naked. He wasn't sure how he would have reacted to that. But then, her drawers were wet too and would need to come off.

Sherlock could hear her teeth chattering. He supposed he'd have to aid her in putting on the nightshirt too, as she seemed unable to do anything herself.

"Lift your arms and l'll help with your nightshirt." Seeing her hesitation, he added, with a quirk to his lips, "I'll keep my eyes closed."

The nightshirt was still covering the woman's chest and he picked it up, preparing to slip it over her and closing his eyes. He felt her sliding her arms into the sleeves, and assisted her to pull it down. The shirt was long enough to cover her thighs. "Will you remove your drawers, or should I?" he asked, not quite sure whether he would be comfortable doing the task if she required it.

Fortunately the nightshirt seemed to be already helping to warm her, and she said shyly, darting a glance up at him, "I can do it."

He knew he should have averted his eyes, but he couldn't help watching as she pulled the nightshirt down low on her thighs and slid the drawers off.

"I'll get you a blanket," Sherlock offered. He went into his cabin and opened the wardrobe, finding extra blankets within, on an upper shelf. He returned to the small cabin and was about to lay the blanket over the young woman, when he saw that of course the bunk itself was wet from her laying on it in her sodden clothes. He sighed. There was no help for it, he was going to have to put her into his own bed.

"I'm going to have to take you into my bed, because it's dry," he informed her, and noticed how her eyes widened slightly at the thought. _She really is a pretty young thing,_ he thought involuntarily, and immediately tried to push the unwanted thought from his mind. Then he suddenly realised he didn't know her true name. "Would you tell me your name now? If you are going to sleep in my bed, I think I deserve to know that."

Unexpectedly, she gave a little giggle, and it was a very sweet, feminine sound. "It's Molly Hooper," she answered, then bit her lip.

 _Again with that lip biting._ Why did it make him feel protective of her?

"Well, Molly, I'm going to turn down the bed and put you in it, okay?"

"Okay," she answered shyly.

Sherlock returned once again to his cabin and pulled down the covers. Then he went back to the woman, Molly, and gently lifted her into his arms. She put her arms around his neck and he felt a little tingle where her fingers touched his skin. Then he carried her to his bed and deposited her on it. With the better lighting in his cabin, he was able to see that her hair, plaited as it was, almost reached her waist. Although she was still pale, she was no longer trembling, and he could hear that the storm outside was abating. The ship was no longer pitching and tossing as it had been.

Sherlock suddenly noticed the tray of food still laying untouched on the table. He lifted the cover and was pleased to find some kind of warm broth in two bowls. There was also the usual hard tack and salted meat as well as an orange. He looked over at Morry – _Molly_ , he'd have to remember that. "Would you like something to eat?" She looked so small in his large bed.

'Yes, please," she answered, flashing him a shy, rather endearing smile.

Having laid her in the bed, Sherlock didn't want her to have to get up again, so he brought over the bowl of broth and some hard tack for her to dip in it.

By the time Molly had finished eating, the colour had returned to her face. No doubt she was feeling better with food in her belly and the absence of movement from the ship.

He had eaten his own broth and hard tack at the same time. Afterwords, they shared the salted meat and orange.

Then Sherlock poured two glasses of brandy for them and handed one to Molly. When she would have refused, he said sternly, "Drink it, it will help prevent you from getting a chill from your soaking."

Molly obeyed, although she made such a face at the first taste of the fiery liquid that he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. She did manage a few more sips however, and he was satisfied to note the colour returning to her cheeks. By that time he could see the young woman was getting sleepy. "Sleep now," he instructed kindly. "In the morning you can tell me everything, and we will decide what to do."

"Thank you, my lord," she said humbly, then closed her eyes in obvious exhaustion from her ordeal.

He walked to the side of the bed where she lay and pulled up the covers. Then, on impulse he bent down and kissed her cheek. "Good night, Molly Hooper," he whispered.

For the next hour, Sherlock tried to decide where he should sleep. He contemplated using the armchair, but in the end decided the bed was large enough to accommodate himself as well as the petite woman already slumbering in it. He undressed quietly, putting on his own nightshirt.

Then he slid into bed. It took him some time to get to sleep, though. Sherlock was very aware of the woman in bed beside him, despite the distance that separated them. He had never shared a bed with a woman, had in fact never even considered being intimate with one, and it was rather uncomfortable for him. Yet at the same time, he felt strangely protective of her, knowing she had been desperate enough to disguise herself as a young man to escape her stepmother.

Oh yes, it was going to be an interesting conversation indeed when she explained all in the morning.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Thanks to those of you who responded in previous chapters with your deductions about when Sherlock would discover that Molly was not a boy. I hope you like the way it was revealed.

Did you enjoy seeing Sherlock's discomfort and the way he was very aware of Molly when he had to help her change into her nightshirt? I am sure he would be very confused by his feelings after thinking for so long that he had no interest in women. How long do you think it will be before he decides to explore those feelings?


	7. Money, Magic and Marriage

Molly opened her eyes and was, for a moment, disoriented. She shifted position in the unfamiliar bed, and the events of the previous evening came back to her. Now, facing the centre of the bed, she caught sight of the curly hair and dark eyelashes of Lord Holmes. She couldn't help the way her heart started to beat faster at the sight. She had never seen a man so attractive. Tentatively, she reached her hand to touch a curl that had fallen over his forehead, then snatched it back quickly as he opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Miss Hooper. Did you sleep well?" he spoke in his rich baritone, which sent a thrill running through her.

"Y...yes my lord," she stammered, feeling unaccountably aware of the fact that she wore no drawers beneath her nightshirt.

He sat up in bed then, completely at his ease and asked, "Well, do you feel up to telling me the whole story this morning?"

She drew herself up, taking care to make sure the covers were still securely around her waist, moving herself closer to the edge of the bed so there was some distance between them. "I…I will tell you." So she did, shyly relating the complete story. She told him about her father's unfortunate marriage and accidental death. Then she explained the plot to marry her off to her stepmother's lover before she was five and twenty, so that he would be able to control her fortune. At this, Lord Homes raised his eyebrow.

"You're an heiress then?" he asked, rather slowly, despite the fact that it was obvious, by what she had said, and she wondered of what possible consequence it could be to him.

"Yes, my lord," she admitted shyly, biting her lip, hoping he would not decide that the right thing to do would be to return her after all, to her stepmother.

His brows drew together a little, as he seemed to be puzzling things out in his own mind. "And your father was titled so you are a lady as well. May I ask when this important birthday will occur?"

Her hand tightened compulsively on the covers of the bed. "It is only a few weeks away. I had hoped to be away at sea for some time and then when I returned to be able to live off the hundred pounds until my birthday, after which I could claim my inheritance."

Lord Holmes looked at her thoughtfully. "I must admit, that was rather clever of you," he conceded. Then he pursed his lips. "But you have put me in a difficult position."

"Can I…can I not stay here with you? I can continue to pretend to be your cabin boy," she suggested, raising a hand to her long plait and twisting it nervously.

He placed his fingers together and steepled them under his chin. "I suppose that is what we must do for now. To reveal you as a woman would endanger you with the crew." His gaze drifted over her in a way that made her blush. "I must tell you, that the sight of a pretty young woman would be sure to turn the heads of the men on this vessel."

 _He thinks I'm pretty_. Molly felt a little flicker of hope. "So I may stay with you? I will be no trouble, I promise." She looked at him pleadingly and held her breath, waiting for his response.

He pursed his lips and spoke sternly. "If we were not so far out at sea, I would be tempted to turn around, return you to Dover and leave you with some money to stay safe from your stepmother."

"Doctor Watson said that you would not turn back once we had been at sea above a day," she confided, with just a hint of a smile playing about her lips.

The young lord frowned at her. "You're telling me that my friend knew of this and didn't inform me?" Then he added slowly, "Well, I Was aware he knew part of your secret, but I had no idea he was aware of the whole story."

"He knew from the first, but felt sorry for me. He told me he knew I was a woman after you and he boarded the ship," Molly explained, as her gaze dropped from his and she continued. "I begged him not to tell you, and he promised, as long as I told him everything." She peeped back up at him.

Lord Holmes shifted his position in the bed to look at her more fully, running a hand through that lustrous hair she so longed to touch. "So that is what you were talking about in his cabin when I found you the other day? But how did he know you were a woman, when I did not see it for myself?" His lips tightened, and Molly could see that he was annoyed with himself.

Her gaze fell from his once again. What she had to relate was most embarrassing. "He…he said I was rather…too well endowed for such a young man." She blushed as she spoke the words.

Lord Holmes made an exclamation. "Of course! I even noticed that myself." Then he went on, almost as though speaking to himself, "What a bloody fool I was to see but not observe the truth of the matter. It appears my friend has better observational skills than I do at times."

"Please don't be angry with him," Molly begged. "He was just trying to be kind," she told him, as her hands tightened on the bed covers once more. She did not wish to be the source of any antagonism between the two friends.

Surprisingly, Lord Holmes extended a hand to cover her own, and she felt a tingle run through it which made her draw in her breath audibly at the sensation. Apparently he felt something also, because he withdrew his hand immediately and a disconcerted expression crossed his face.

She saw him swallow before he said, "Have no fear, little one. John is a good man, and I will not be too cross with him." He took a deep breath, and Molly felt that what was coming next was of great import to him. "As for you, knowing that you are, in fact, a lady, I think in private you should just call me by my first name. After all we are equals in society. You may call me Sherlock."

Molly licked her lips nervously. This was a great concession indeed. "Thank you my…I mean, Sherlock." Sherlock smiled at her, and her heart lightened. When he smiled in that manner, it transformed his face and made him look much younger. He had such full, sensual lips, and her fingers itched to touch them. _What would it be like to feel his lips on mine?_ she wondered dreamily.

Her wayward thoughts were interrupted by his voice coming from those beautiful lips. "I suppose I should have you go to the galley and get us some breakfast now, while I summon John to my cabin. It is fortunate you have a spare set of clothes, we will need to see that your wet ones are left to dry properly."

"Of course, my…Sherlock," she responded. It was going to take some time to get used to calling him by that name, but the more she thought of his name, the more she liked it. It had a very elegant sound to it. She climbed out of the large bed, still aware of the fact that she wore only a nightshirt, and hurried into the small cabin to dress. When she emerged, with her cap securely on her head once more, she saw that he too had dressed. Sherlock shook his head at her.

"It is so clear to me now that you are a woman. You don't even _walk_ like a man." There was a rather amused twist to his lips as he spoke.

Molly blushed. "I was trying to do so, to lengthen my stride, but I admit, it is not something I have constantly thought of to do. I do try to remember to lower my voice, however."

"Make sure you do so in the galley when you are procuring our breakfast," Lord Holmes warned her, walking towards her and adjusting her cap slightly. "We don't want any of the men getting suspicious. I have enough to worry about with this mission already."

He was standing so close to her that she found it hard to formulate the words as she looked up at him. "I will try...Sherlock."

"See that you do, Molly." He nodded down at her and she knew she was dismissed.

 _I like the way my name sounds on his lips,_ Molly thought, as she made her way down to the galley to see Mrs. Hudson. She tried to remember to walk more like a man and to lower her voice when she spoke to the elderly woman. There were several men in the mess hall and she was uncomfortably aware that some of them were staring at her.

"Come here, lad," called one of the men, as she was waiting for Mrs. Hudson to fix her a tray to take upstairs.

Not knowing what else to do, she complied, walking hesitantly to the man.

"Yes, sir?" she asked politely, biting her lip nervously.

The man gave her a long look. "You're rather a scrawny fellow, aren't you?" he remarked in what Molly thought was a rather insolent tone. He was a powerfully built man, as seemed the case with most of the sailors aboard.

"No sir, I am not scrawny, just small," she responded, afraid of his penetrating gaze, but feeling the need to stand up for herself.

Several of the men sitting at the table laughed. One of them commented, "The lad has a tongue in his head, that's for certain."

Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson appeared at that moment and called, "Hooper, the tray is ready for you and Lord Holmes." Then she added sternly to the men, "Leave the young man alone."

Molly took the tray from Mrs. Hudson and was making her way to go back upstairs when she happened to hear the first man murmuring, "Hooper, I know that name from somewhere," and a chill suddenly ran down her spine. Perhaps she should not have used her real name, she thought as she returned to Lord Holmes's - Sherlock's cabin.

She re-entered the cabin to find that John Watson was there as well. He smiled at her as she came in. "I see that your secret has been revealed. Sherlock has just been telling me off for not informing him about it earlier."

Molly set down the tray on the table, then turned to the doctor. "I am so sorry. I did not wish to cause discord between you and Sherlock."

"I already told you, Molly, I would not be too cross with him," Sherlock pointed out with a quirk to his lips. "We have been friends for too many years to let something like this get between us."

John's brows lifted fractionally. "Sherlock and Molly, eh? I see you are now on a first name basis." He smirked, and Sherlock frowned at him, pursing his lips.

John stood then. "Well, I suppose I should get back to my cabin and my own breakfast," he commented, rather hastily. Then he added, with a rather wicked smile, "but perhaps I should stay to act as chaperone for both of you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Molly blushed. "Oh, for God's sake, man, I'm not about to seduce the girl. You know I have no interest in women," he said bluntly, and Molly couldn't help feeling her heart sinK at his words. Her attraction to him was obviously one-sided.

Later in the day, Sherlock sent Molly to Captain Lestrade. "Ask him if there is any news on Moriarty's latest movements."

She went dutifully to the captain's cabin and soon returned with the news that they were still expected to reach the vicinity of Moriarty's last known whereabouts in two day's time. No new information had come to light in regard to his current activities.

"Very well," responded Sherlock, with a little huff of annoyance. "I'd really like to get this mission over and done with." Molly looked at him a little anxiously. Was he in such a hurry to get rid of her?

She supposed that was not surprising. She was an encumbrance after all that he had not anticipated, And the mission could potentially be compromised if her true identity as a woman was exposed.

She passed a quiet evening with Sherlock. He had allowed her to look at the Mendelev book he had been reading, and they discussed it together. She really enjoyed talking with him. He was so intelligent, and she found they shared a love of science in general.

The following day, Molly was delighted to discover that Sherlock had a chessboard. She had been taught the strategy game by her father years earlier and enjoyed the challenge it presented immensely. This chess set, however, was magnificent. The pieces were made from heavily weighted ebony and ivory and were obviously extremely expensive.

"Oh yes, I very much enjoy the game. How did you acquire this wonderful chess set?" she inquired of Sherlock, lifting one of the ivory pieces and fingering it reverently, after he brought out the chessboard and set it on the table, asking if she knew how to play.

"It was a gift, after I solved a very difficult case for a wealthy Maharajah," he responded off-handedly, with a modest shrug.

Molly's lips parted in surprise. This was most intriguing. "So you are a detective, then?"

Sherlock's lips curved upwards into a smile. "As a matter of fact, yes. When I am not doing government missions for my brother, I consider myself a consulting detective."

"What is a consulting detective?" Molly inquired, furrowing her brow. She had never heard of the term before.

"I am the person the police call when they can't solve a case," he informed her, and there was a note of pride in his voice. "I have helped Scotland Yard on several occasions." There was a quirk to his lips as he added, "My observation skills are usually exceptional, although they appear to have been singularly lacking where you were concerned."

"I am sure you were just distracted by your current mission," said Molly kindly as they sat down to play a game.

They enjoyed several games of chess. Molly was delighted to actually win one of them, and found it quite amusing to see Sherlock pouting about it. Once again she thought how much she longed to touch those sensual lips. Actually, if she was honest with herself, she longed for him to kiss her even though she knew it was a vain hope. She thought it would be most wonderful to be kissed by him, although she had never felt the touch of a man's lips before.

Molly had the distinct feeling she was falling in love with Lord Sherlock Holmes. He was everything she could have wished for in a man – both handsome _and_ intelligent. She knew her father would have approved of a marriage with a man such as he as well. But of course, she knew he would never see her that way, he had already said to John in her presence that he had no interest in women. She would have to be content to admire him from afar and have her dreams, but to her, every moment they spent together had a kind of magic about it, which she knew was bound to disappear eventually.

That evening, just after dinner, Molly was feeling as if she needed to leave the confines of the cabin for awhile. She and Sherlock had spent almost the entire day together, and she was feeling uncomfortably aware of him. She could feel her love for him growing, and was afraid she might be tempted to just blurt it out, which would undoubtedly embarrass him. She just needed to put some distance between them for awhile, so she could remind herself that loving a man who did not feel an attraction to her was futile. It was a warm evening so she asked him hesitantly, "Sherlock, would you mind if I went outside for awhile and walked around on the deck? I feel the need for some exercise."

Sherlock lifted his eyes from the book he was reading. "I have no objection, but there will be men on deck, and I would advise you to stay clear of them. It is best they do not see you too often," he told her mildly, seeming to hardly notice her presence, and she felt disconsolately that he would not have even noticed if she had just left the cabin without permission. His gaze returned to his book. _It must be fascinating,_ Molly thought sadly to herself, _Much more fascinating than I am._

"I will be careful," she promised and left the cabin, sighing a little. He had not even looked up again from his book to watch her leave. As she walked about the deck she deliberately avoided any sailor she happened to see. After about fifteen minutes however, she realised that one of them had spotted her and was approaching. She recognised him as the same man who had spoken to her the previous morning. She tried to hurry away from him, but he caught up to her and took hold of her arm. She felt suddenly fearful. This part of the deck was isolated, there were no other sailors anywhere in the vicinity that she could detect.

"What…what are you doing? I must get back to Sh..Lord Holmes now - he may have need of me."

The man refused to release her, but instead gave her an assessing look, and said, "Your name's Hooper, isn't it?"

"Y...yes sir," she answered, unable to keep her voice from trembling slightly.

He gave her a self-satisfied smile that made her feel suddenly weak from fear. "I've been wracking my brain about where I've heard that name before. Suddenly it came to me earlier today. There was a lady at the inn by that name the night before we sailed. Some of us sailors were having a drink in the inn that night. I happened to be talking to the proprietor and he was boasting that he had a grand lady staying at the inn with her stepdaughter."

Molly's face drained of colour, but she tried to control her nervousness. "What a funny coincidence," she remarked trying once again to pull away from the man. "I really must be going now."

"Now, now, lad...or should I say - _lady_ ," he said, using his other arm to pull the cap from her head. Molly was horrified as her plait came tumbling down, revealing her as the woman she was.

"I knew it," crowed the man in triumph. "I _knew_ there was something about you that wasn't quite right. Has Lord Holmes been hiding you in order to have you all to himself during the voyage?"

"No, no, of course not," she responded, as tears filled her eyes. "Lord Holmes would not do something like that!" she exclaimed, struggling futilely in his grasp and growing more fearful by the moment. He was just too strong.

"Well then, if he doesn't want you, I'd be happy to teach you a thing or two about the ways of love." The sailor leered at her, and Molly was terrified. This was obviously what Sherlock had warned her about, and now she would pay the penalty for being so foolish. She continued to try to free herself, but he easily grabbed both her wrists and held them. His meaty hand was able to hold both of hers fast as he used the other to roughly touch her breasts through the fabric of her shirt.

Molly thought about screaming, but was afraid nobody would hear her, and even if they did, they would probably be just as likely to want to take their pleasure from her as this man once they discovered she was a woman. She continued to twist and turn in vain, feeling horror and revulsion overwhelm her as his hand continued to rub at her breasts through the fabric. His mouth and his horrible thick lips were getting closer to hers, and she could smell the foul stench of his breath. She twisted her head to one side to avoid the touch of those horrible lips.

In response to her defiance, he pushed her back against a bulkhead, pinioning her there, arms above her head as his hand continued to grasp her wrists tightly. He pressed his lower body close against hers as he ripped her shirt open in one violent movement, exposing her breasts.

Molly could see the lust in his eyes and knew there was no escape, but still, she had to try. "Please, please,"she begged. "Lord Holmes will be very angry if you do anything to me. Let me go, I beg of you."

But he wouldn't listen to her, consumed with his own needs, and Molly felt as if she was about to faint. She felt him tugging at her britches, and couldn't help letting out an involuntary scream. She was trapped, and he was going to force himself upon her. Thanks to her knowledge of anatomy, she knew what that entailed, and she also knew it would be dirty, disgusting and painful, when there was only lust involved and the consent of only one party. To have her body violated intimately by a man she did not love was a terrifying prospect.

 _Save me, Sherlock, save me,_ she pleaded in her mind, as the man fumbled with his own britches, having succeeded in pulling hers downwards and exposing her fully to him. And the tears began to stream down her cheeks as she awaited her fate.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Oh no! Will Sherlock arrive in time? Aren't I cruel to leave this on such a cliffhanger? You'll have to wait a week to find out, unless I am persuaded by anxious requests to publish another chapter earlier LOL.

Well, it certainly appears that Molly is in love with Sherlock, but what do you think Sherlock feels about her? Is she stirring feelings of _sentiment_ within him as well? You probably have noticed that I am now referring to them both by name, because they are now on a first name basis.

Following/favouriting and reviewing is like watering the garden of my stories, so do more than just read and please help to keep my creativity blooming!

By the way, thank you to guest reviewer eve and the other guest who left a review on the first chapter. It is always nice to hear from those surprise guest reviewers as well, and I am happy to talk further with anyone who decides to make an account. Good to hear from you again!

Let's work together to keep the memory of Sherlolly alive, even as the fandom shrinks due to lack of new source material!


	8. The Leaping Flame

After Molly left the cabin, Sherlock spent about ten minutes in contemplation. He had found to his surprise that he enjoyed her company. She was an intelligent woman, as he had discovered when they discussed the Mendelev book, and she was an outstanding chess player. He had never met a woman who could play Chess. Then again, he didn't usually interact with women at all. Mycroft had tried on several occasions to convince Sherlock that he needed a woman to "soften your edges a bit."

Sherlock had merely retorted, "Sentiment is a chemical defect, found in the losing side." He was not about to allow any woman to ruin his ordered existence. A bachelor he was, and a bachelor he would remain, quite happily so.

Curiously, after those ten minutes had elapsed, Sherlock began to feel uneasy. He wondered whether he should have accompanied Molly on her walk along the deck, in order to protect her. Of course, that might have looked strange if anyone saw him walking with a cabin boy. Something niggled at him however, and on impulse he decided to seek her out.

He walked along the deck, seeing no one at first but one sailor scrubbing part of the deck. He continue to walk along and suddenly heard a scream. Immediately he increased his stride to find the source of the scream.

Sherlock rounded a corner and was extremely disturbed at the sight that met his eyes. He could see Molly pinned against a bulkhead by a burly sailor, her hair no longer inside its cap. A quick glance was enough to indicate to Sherlock the man was about to force himself upon her. With lightning speed he reached the man and pulled him backwards roughly by the collar, shaking him. "Get off her, you blackguard," he shouted. Then he let fly with a punch to the man's nose which left him sprawled on the deck, senseless. He saw to his relief that the man's britches were not fully opened.

Then he heard Molly's voice say in a whisper, "Sherlock, you saved me."

He turned in time to see Molly fall to the deck in a dead faint. His first reaction was to think, _Not again!_ Then his eyes widened as he beheld her properly. Her breasts were completely exposed from where the sailor had ripped her shirt, as was her lower body where he had pulled down her britches and drawers. Sherlock gulped and he felt his breath hitch. He felt the involuntary response of his own body to her nakedness and was mortified. What the hell was going on?

It must just be the shock of seeing a naked woman, he decided. He hadn't seen a woman's body that way in the twelve years since he had spied Irene's in the moonlight as a gauche, idealistic sixteen-year-old.

He cast a quick glance towards the man who was still unconscious, then hastily went to Molly and tried not to look as he first pulled up her britches. His fingers involuntarily touched the curve of her breast as he tried to pull the shirt closed, and he felt a tingle run through them. Unfortunately, the garment was now missing its buttons due to the rough nature of what the sailor had been doing to her.

He was in a quandary. Should he wait for the crewman to wake and threaten him? Or should he take Molly back to his own cabin? He knew that if the sailor was permitted to return to his crew mates, Molly's secret would be exposed. However, his anxiety for her wellbeing won out. He picked up the cap which had fallen a few feet from where she lay, then lifted her, holding her close to him. Her shirt fell open as he did so and he caught his breath once again. Her sweet curves were beckoning him, tempting him in a way he had never experienced before. Steeling himself, he pulled her closer so that her chest was against his and strode back to his cabin.

Her eyes fluttered open as he laid her on the bed.

"You saved me, Sherlock. I prayed that you would save me, and you did," she said almost incoherently. Then, as if the shock of it all came back to her she sat up, seemed to notice her state of undress and pulled at the shirt to close it once again, then began to sob.

Sherlock felt his chest tighten at the sound. Molly looked so innocent, so vulnerable. A surge of anger spread through him and he clenched his fists, wishing he had killed the man instead of just punching him. Then he forced himself to relax and instead sat on the edge of the bed next to Molly. Awkwardly he put his arms out towards her, not really sure how to offer comfort, but instinctively knowing he should do so. She stretched out her arms to put them around his waist then buried her head against his shoulder as his arms came around her. He rocked her gently as she wept, making soft, soothing sounds. "It's okay, Molly, nobody's going to hurt you again. I will make certain of it."

She finally stopped crying and pulled her head back to look at him. Her soft brown eyes gazed at him in gratitude, and her lips still trembled slightly.

Without conscious thought, Sherlock bent his head slightly, intending to kiss her cheek comfortingly, but somehow his lips found hers. A streak of sensation shot through him at the touch of her lips, which were very soft and yielding. Sherlock had never known that the kiss of a woman could be so captivating. Fearing his own reaction, he tried to pull back, but Moly's small arms were still around his waist and she was leaning in towards him. He could feel her chest against his and was enthralled by the sensation.

Molly made a little sigh of what was it - _pleasure_? against his lips which he couldn't help responding to. _She is certainly not screaming now as she did when that filthy sailor tried to force his attentions on her,_ he thought vaguely, as his usually ordered mind became overloaded with these unfamiliar sensations. _Am I feeling desire for a woman after all these years?_

By the way his body was reacting to her, he assumed so. He continued to kiss her, feeling the sweetness of her mouth as it opened under his kiss. Fire erupted within him as he felt her small hands slip underneath his shirt. _Why do her hands feel so good on my skin?_

His own hands moved beneath the ruined shirt to push it aside as his fingers sought the curves of her breasts. He heard her sharp intake of breath, but she offered no resistance.

Instead, her hands moved away from his back to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. He groaned into her mouth as she ran her fingers delicately along his chest. His dulled senses registered the fact that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He, who prided himself on his ability to put intellect above everything else, was completely lost in the waves of heady passion he had never expected to feel.

His senses dimly registered a sound, and a moment later an exclamation of, "Oh, my God, Sherlock! What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Sherlock's face flamed with embarrassment, as he drew back from Molly and tried to pull her shirt closed as well as his own, before turning to face his friend.

John was standing just inside the cabin, with a look of utter astonishment on his face.

"I…I can explain," he stammered, feeling like a schoolboy who had been caught in an indecent act.

John narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "This should be good, coming from the man who has always been adamant that he has no interest in women."

Molly came to his rescue then, biting her lip and saying hesitatingly, "I...I was walking on the deck and one of the...sailors followed me. He...confronted me, saying he knew there had been a rich lady named Hooper at the inn. He pulled off my cap, and saw I was a woman, then he tried to…force himself...on me. He…he ripped my shirt and pulled down…my britches, but Sherlock saved me just in time, by punching him."

"She fainted, John," explained Sherlock hastily, "so I brought her back here and then, I don't know what happened. She was so frightened and when she came back to consciousness I was just going to kiss her cheek to comfort her." He flushed again and licked his lips nervously. "I don't understand myself what just happened."

John looked from one to the other, then addressed Sherlock. "It appears _your_ attentions at least were not unwanted. My God, I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself." He shook his head and a slightly amused smile crossed his lips.

Sherlock looked away from John, feeling shame and mortification. "I don't know what came over me," he muttered, retreating further from the woman beside him.

"So, what do you propose to do about this situation?" asked John with a raised eyebrow. "It sounds like the jig is up in regard to this cabin boy pretense. Presumably this sailor chap is going to tell everybody you are harbouring a woman on the ship, and that will pose a danger for her."

Sherlock raked a hand through his hair. "Molly is under my protection, and I will make it clear that nobody is to get near her."

John snorted in derision and rolled his eyes. "You really think they're going to listen to you? As far as they are concerned, she will be fair game."

Sherlock looked at Molly who had gasped in horror. Her eyes were filling with tears again, as she said in a low voice filled with pain, "I am so sorry. I should have just tried to run away and hidden from my stepmother instead of causing this trouble."

Impulsively, Sherlock took her hand and squeezed it gently. "It is what it is, Molly. We just have to deal with the situation as it is now." Then he looked at John. "Do you have any suggestions as to how I can keep Molly safe?"

"I do," John said slowly, with a twist to his lips, "but you might not like it."

"Well, tell me anyway," Sherlock begged his friend. _I should never have let her leave the cabin alone_ , he thought savagely to himself. _This is all my fault, and I need to make amends._

John took a deep breath, then exhaled, before saying, "If you offered her the protection of your name, the sailors wouldn't dare try to take advantage of her."

Sherlock looked at his friend in bemusement. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

John looked at him unsmilingly. "Yes, Sherlock. As far as I'm concerned you've already compromised the girl anyway. Look what you almost did to her, so apparently you have already discovered you have, incredible as it seems to me, an attraction to her."

Sherlock stood and paced the floor of the cabin in agitation. "There's got to be some other way, John. You know I hate women."

John rolled his eyes. "You bloody moron. What you were doing just now when I came in here, was not the action of a man who hates women." He paused, then added, as a smile curved his lips, "At least not _this_ woman."

Sherlock glanced over at Molly who had pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them as if she were trying to protect herself. She looked so vulnerable, and his heart lurched. _Can I really do what John is suggesting? Do I even have a choice at this point?_

He thought for a few moments then made his decision, pressing his lips together and nodding to him self. This situation was entirely his fault and he had to set it right.

"I'll do it, John. Tell Captain Lestrade he has a new duty to perform, and that he needs to get here right away."

"What…what are you going to do?" asked Molly, with a look of utter bewilderment on her face; she had obviously not understood the conversation the two men had been having.

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. "There is nothing else to be done. I'm going to have to marry you, and Captain Lestrade can perform the ceremony because he has a licence to do so."

"No...no, I can't let you do that. I won't," she said with a note of resolution in her voice.

Sherlock sat back down on the bed. "Molly, you have to understand. I don't have time to think of any other solution. Within the next day we will be possibly in range of Moriarty's ship and I will have other things to worry about. I don't need the added stress of attempting to find a way to keep you safe, when this is the most practical solution." He couldn't help the way his lips tightened as he added, "For all I know, this may be my last mission. There's never any guarantee that I will succeed."

"I am just an encumbrance to you. You should just throw me overboard and be rid of me already," she said miserably in a low tone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now you are just being overly dramatic, Molly. You will marry me and I shall hear no more about it, do you understand?" He spoke sternly to her, and was relieved when she nodded.

"Well that's all good then," said John brightly. I'll go get Captain Lestrade now, shall I?"

Sherlock nodded, and John departed. After he had left, Molly asked hesitantly, "Are you sure you want to do this? Is there really no other way?"

Sherlock sighed, looking at the young woman who still had her hands clasped about her knees, thinking once again how sweet and innocent she looked. "If there is, I cannot think of it right now. I have never wanted to be married, but if I must do so, at least I know there is an attraction between us. I hope that you do not find the thought of being with me intolerable."

"Of course not," she said without hesitation, and he heard the note of passion in her voice. "I only feel terrible to have forced you into this situation."

"We must just make the best of it," he told her, then pursed his lips. "I suppose we should have a ring for you. I have a signet ring that I can give you."

She looked at him wide-eyed. "Do men also wear rings?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I have not heard of such a thing, but if it would make you happy, I can give you this ring to put on my finger as well." He pulled off an ornate ring from his right hand and gave it to her. He would take off the signet ring from his left hand when it was time to place it on her finger.

 _It's strange,_ Sherlock thought to himself. _I should be angry about this, being forced to marry; I never had any intention of doing so, but I'm not._ In fact, if he were honest with himself, he was rather interested in exploring the relationship further. He had the distinct feeling that if John had not interrupted them, he would have made love to Molly anyway, and ruined her virtue.

"I… I should probably change my shirt?" suggested Molly, looking down at the ruined garment she still wore.

"That is most definitely a good idea," Sherlock agreed, giving her a slight smile. "I am sorry I cannot provide you with a gown. Tomorrow we shall go and talk to Mrs. Hudson, and I will see if she has any extra clothes with her." His smile broadened somewhat as he added, "I would not be at all surprised if she brought along an extra trunk of clothing, just in case. Perhaps you can alter some of her clothes so you can dress as a woman."

"I would like that. Thank you, Sherlock." She got off the bed and headed to her small cabin, reappearing a couple minutes later in her other shirt. In the meantime, Sherlock had re-buttoned his own shirt.

A few minutes later, John returned to the cabin, closely followed by Captain Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and Molly and said slowly, "So, it's true then. I half thought Doctor Watson was jesting about this. Now I see I was mistaken. Are you sure you wish to do this?"

Sherlock looked at Molly. She looked nervous, and he took her hand which was trembling slightly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at him trustingly, and he was filled with a desire to protect her at all costs. "I'm sure."

* * *

 **Author's note:** Don't let anyone tell you that reviews don't make a difference in the motivation of an author. It is precisely the reason I am publishing another chapter this week, to thank those who did take the time to respond to the last one. Thank you also to Eve and the other guest reviewer for adding your pleas for another update to the mix. If more people would respond to the stories they read, I'm sure other authors would also update faster. So please, don't hesitate to leave that feedback, even if you don't have an account on .

So, of course, Sherlock saved her. Was there any doubt she would be rescued? Were you expecting to see the passion flare between them so quickly? Did you enjoy that first kiss? I love writing those. Did you find it funny that John interrupted them?, To think what might have happened if they had not been interrupted…

Will Sherlock be able to go through with actually marrying Molly, and if so, what will happen on their wedding night? As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts and guesses, it adds to the fun!

By the way, if you happen to be a Barbara Cartland fan, you will know that the heroines always think that they are an "encumbrance" to the hero. I couldn't resist using the term myself. If you are indeed a fan of that author, do you feel I am following her style? As I have done with my other two Victorian stories, each chapter is the title of an actual Barbara Cartland novel. Sometimes it's hard to find one to fit, though!


	9. The Man of Her Dreams

**Author's note:** Thanks for your lovely reviews, dear readers. It definitely makes me want to churn the chapters out faster LOL. Eve, it was good to hear from you again, and I hope you'll join the site (if you have not done so already) so I can thank you properly via pm!

The big moment has arrived! Read on...

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\As Sherlock held her hand in his, Molly could not help feeling hopeful for the future. She had been so terrified a short time earlier when that vile sailor had been trying to force himself upon her. When Sherlock had kissed her however, she had thrilled at the sensations which rippled through her body at his touch. From the moment their lips met, she understood that this was true love. He was the man of her dreams and she loved him, even though he did not love her. She understood however, that he held an attraction for her as he had said, and that was enough for now. She really disliked intensely the fact that he was being forced into this situation, but it seemed he was resigned to it and determined.

"Well, are you ready to begin?" asked Captain Lestrade, looking at the couple standing before him. "I will need your full names, so that I can fill out the documents correctly to register your marriage once we return to Dover, and of course to perform the ceremony itself."

"My name is Molly Enid Hooper," she informed him shyly. "I am the daughter of the late Lord Gerald Hooper."

"And mine is William Sherlock Scott Holmes," responded Sherlock, with a quick glance at Molly.

 _Interesting,_ thought Molly. _His first name isn't even Sherlock._

The couple stood before Captain Lestrade, and he performed a short marriage ceremony. There was very little to it besides repeating vows and the exchange of rings. The captain seemed quite surprised when Molly gave Sherlock his own ring for his left hand, but he made no comment.

Molly was a little disappointed. She had always dreamed of reciting her vows in a church in front of her parents and friends. Realistically, though, this would not have happened now that both her parents were deceased, and she really had not kept in touch with her friends from her school days in the schoolroom, nor the academy she had attended for young ladies. Any wedding guests would therefore most likely have been friends of her parents, rather than her own. She was really saddened more by the idea of not marrying in a church, which was a holy place, and to feel their union was blessed by God. But she consoled herself with the fact that God was everywhere anyway, and where the ceremony took place was not really of consequence. In time, she hoped that eventually the love she bore for Sherlock would be reciprocated.

Molly looked down at the ring on her finger. Surprisingly, it was quite a good fit. It was hard to believe she was married, though. Suddenly, she realised the captain had said something, and Sherlock was lifting her face to his and placing a gentle kiss upon her lips. Sensation immediately washed over her once again, but the kiss was over almost as soon as it began.

"Right then, I think I'll go back to my normal duties now," commented Lestrade with a smile, before taking his leave.

John lingered for a few moments longer. "You've done the right thing mate. I'm proud of you. Should I go downstairs and have a word to Mrs. Hudson about preparing a tray for you for dinner? I can make the announcement of your marriage to the crewmen. That sailor is sure to have already revealed that another woman is aboard."

Molly could see that Sherlock was contemplating the idea by the way he pursed his lips in thought. Then he spoke. "No, John. I must be the one to do so. Instead of waiting till tomorrow, I think Molly and I need to go downstairs and reveal immediately that we are married. We must think of a reasonable premise for why she was on the ship in the first place."

"Perhaps you could say that we met and immediately fell in love at the inn, but my stepmother...did not want us to be together, so I came aboard with you to escape her?" suggested Molly shyly. _It wasn't that far from the truth,_ she thought. After all she _had_ been trying to escape her stepmother, and she knew now that she had fallen in love with Sherlock the moment she had met him.

Sherlock considered her words, then nodded. "I think that would be acceptable. Let us go and get this over with." He turned to his friend. "John, do you wish to accompany us?"

"Hell yes, I wouldn't miss it for the world," declared John, who immediately added, "Begging your pardon, Lady Holmes, for my use of such language."

Molly thrilled at his words, not the "hell" part of course, but the way he had called her Lady Holmes. Nevertheless, she could not have him use her new title that way. Instead she said, "That's quite all right, and please just continue to call me Molly. There is no need for formality."

They went downstairs to the mess hall where most of the sailors spent their leisure time. When they entered, a strange, rather expectant hush fell over the room.

Molly could see several men looking at her curiously, now that her hair was no longer hidden by the cap. Her eyes were drawn to the man who had assaulted her. His nose was swollen, and there was a belligerent look in his eyes which frightened her.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I need everyone's attention," he said loudly in an authoritative voice. "I am here to inform you all about something very important. I expect you have heard by now there is a woman aboard besides my cook."

Molly noticed that Sherlock's eyes drifted towards the man he had punched earlier, who was now glaring at him in remembrance. "I will not go into details, but suffice to say that I brought the young lady aboard in disguise so we could be together away from her stepmother, who objected to a romantic liaison between us. Captain Lestrade has done the honours of uniting us in holy matrimony, and she is now my wife. Therefore, in future you will refer to her as Lady Holmes and accord her the respect she is due." He glanced around the room, and his lips thinned. "If anyone attempts to lay a finger on her," here he gave a very telling glare at the sailor who had earlier accosted Molly, "I shall have them tied to one of the masts and whipped. Do I make myself clear?"

There were general murmurs of agreement and a few, "Yes, Lord Holmes," answers. Molly noted that most of the men seemed respectful, although a few, including the one from earlier had sulky or resentful expressions on their faces. She slipped her hand into Sherlock's and he gave her a gentle smile which reassured her.

From behind them came an exclamation. "Sherlock, why did you not tell me about this earlier? We must see that the poor child get some women's clothes to wear. Fortunately, I always come prepared with extra." Molly and Sherlock turned as one to see that Mrs. Hudson had entered the mess hall. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and the way in which she had addressed Sherlock by name made Molly feel certain she thought of him as more than her master. Undoubtedly she had been in his employ for many years.

As chatter began again between the men in the mess hall, Sherlock said to the older woman, "It has all been rather sudden, but I knew you would be able to take care of Molly. Will you help her find something to wear and then come upstairs together to my cabin? John and I have some things to discuss."

"Of course, dear boy. I already have a tray ready for you, so you can take it upstairs with you. And may I offer my congratulations to you." She clasped her hands together in delight. "I never would have thought of you as the marrying kind – you seemed so determined to remain a bachelor, and it has been such a source of sadness for me." Then she looked at Molly. "Come with me, young lady and tell me all about it."

Molly cast a nervous glance at Sherlock who nodded at her. What an earth was she going to tell the woman? It would certainly burst the elderly woman's bubble if she said he had only married her to protect her. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson wouldn't ask too many questions. In any case, she could be truthful about her own feelings.

Sherlock and John left the mess hall with the tray of food and headed upstairs, while Molly followed Mrs. Hudson to her cabin.

"So, tell me all about it, dear," said Mrs. Hudson, raising an eyebrow as they entered her cabin. "How was it you were able to capture his heart when nobody has been able to do so in the past?"

Molly gulped. This was going to be tricky. "There's not much to tell really. We have only known each other for a few days, after all." She offered the elderly woman a shy smile. "But I can tell you I love him with all my heart, have done so from the moment we met. He is a good, honourable man." _That was the truth at least,_ she thought.

To Molly's relief, she realised that Mrs. Hudson was more concerned with unpacking her trunk than really listening intently to Molly's words.

"Aha," said the elderly woman triumphantly. "I knew this was in here." She pulled out a long white nightgown from her trunk, then gave Molly an appraising look. "We look to be around the same height. Mind you, when I was younger I was three inches taller than I am now. I always pack several nightgowns, and I think this one would suit you well when you are just sitting in your cabin. I know it will be more comfortable than those britches you are wearing now." She gave said garment a rather disparaging look, then winked at Molly. "Besides, you want to look pretty for your husband, don't you?"

"Of course," Molly murmured, blushing slightly. The nightgown was actually surprisingly very feminine, not at all what she would have expected from an elderly woman. The sleeves were lace edged as was the collar, which had buttons that went as far down as the chest area of the garment. And the material looked very soft.

Mrs. Hudson rummaged through her trunk some more, producing two gowns. "You can have these," she offered. "I don't even know why I brought them along. I definitely have no use for them in the kitchen, they would be ruined." One was of a navy blue colour, and the other was grey. Neither was elaborate, and the gowns were definitely more suitable for an older woman, but Molly was just grateful that she would be able to dress as a woman once more. She was good at sewing, and could probably alter the high necklines to make them a little lower and more fashionable for a younger woman to wear - not that she really expected Sherlock to notice what she was wearing.

Once more, Mrs. Hudson returned to the trunk, finally pulling out what seemed to be a sleeveless dress in a burgundy colour with some gold embroidery on the front, as well as a long sleeved burgundy coloured blouse which was presumably to be worn beneath the rather low-cut dress. Molly had never seen anything like it. "That's beautiful," she breathed.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "It is, is it not? I received it as a gift several years ago from a foreign gentleman who was trying to court me. I take it with me everywhere, but I have never worn it, because I feel it is too young for me. I suppose it is rather providential that I packed it out of sentimentality. You may have it with my blessing."

"Thank you!" exclaimed Molly, fingering the sleeves of the blouse reverently. "Would you...would you mind if I put it on now?" she asked hesitantly.

Mrs. Hudson gave her a shrewd look. "Of course you may, dear. It is your wedding night, after all. No doubt you would like to look your best, or at least somewhat more femininely attired for your husband."

Molly could not help the blush that rose in her cheeks. Would Sherlock even want to be with her in that way? The thought of making love with him though filled her with excitement and anticipation. She was sure it would be wonderful to be intimate with him, unlike with that horrible sailor. Then she remembered his words about hating women. Perhaps their earlier encounter had just been due to the intensity of their emotions after her narrow escape from that sailor.

Mrs. Hudson helped her into the gown, and for the first time in days, Molly felt pretty. The blouse was quite wide at the neckline and it pulled down so that her shoulders were exposed.

The older lady looked at her approvingly. "It is far more becoming on you than it would have been on me. I am sure Sherlock will appreciate it. Why do we not take your hair from the braid now and let it flow free? I have a scarf that matches the dress which you can put around your hair."

Molly reached her hand back to draw her plait forward."Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I would like that very much."

Mrs. Hudson assisted Molly to undo the long plait and brush out her hair with an expensive looking silver handled hairbrush, which Mrs. Hudson explained had been a gift the previous Christmas from Sherlock. "He's a funny man, you will find, my dear. He claims to despise sentiment, yet shows it despite himself, in many ways," she told Molly, with a quirk to her lips.

She then folded the scarf so it would go around Molly's head much like a head band. The older woman looked at her in satisfaction. "I've never had a daughter of my own, and Sherlock has always been quite like a son to me. I hope you will allow me to treat you like a daughter."

Molly felt the tears come to her eyes. She dearly missed her mother, and this woman was being so kind to her, unlike her stepmother. "I would like that," she said softly.

"Now, now dear, don't be getting all sentimental on me. This is your wedding night and you should be happy. We should be getting back upstairs now anyway. I am sure your husband is anxious to see you." she pursed her lips and added, "Besides, it is getting rather late and I need my rest."

By this time it was dark outside, so Mrs. Hudson collected two lanterns for them to use, and the women gathered the garments, then made their way upstairs to Sherlock's cabin.

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door and then opened it, not waiting for a reply. "Here you are, Sherlock," she said brightly. "I've brought your wife back safe and sound, and she has some clothes to wear."

Sherlock had stood as the women entered, and he gave Molly an assessing look. Molly felt his glance was appreciative, at least she hoped so. John was nowhere in sight, so the men had presumably finished their conversation. "A decided improvement," he proclaimed, as a smile crossed his sensual lips. "Mrs. Hudson, if you would be so kind as to put the clothes in the wardrobe, I would be most grateful," he said to the elderly woman.

She nodded and went immediately to the wardrobe to hang the new garments as Molly continued to stand shyly just inside the door with her lantern. Mrs. Hudson had already deposited hers on the table. Sherlock walked to Molly, took the lantern from her and set it down, then raised her hand to his lips, before murmuring, "You changed your hair - it's good. It suits you better this way."

She blushed and then looked at Sherlock properly. He had also changed while she had been gone, and was now wearing a white shirt with long, wide sleeves beneath a brown vest with matching trousers. There was some sort of gold sash around his waist which gave him a rather raffish look. _He looks like a foppish gentleman, though a very handsome one at that,_ she thought, remembering that he had said he was trying to catch a notorious pirate. "Y...you changed your clothes," she ventured hesitantly.

"Indeed," he affirmed. "I was asking John's opinion as to whether I looked enough like an ignorant, self-important nobleman to fool Moriarty when we meet. We should be encountering him soon, all being well."

Molly couldn't help an involuntary shudder, and Sherlock squeezed her hand, which he had not relinquished. "I will look after you, Molly." Her fear subsided somewhat as he looked at her with an intense expression. _I want you to kiss me again,_ she thought silently, and it seemed he was thinking the same thing as he leaned in towards her.

"All done," Mrs. Hudson proclaimed, breaking into their reverie and Molly blinked, coming back to herself.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said smoothly, and it was as if that moment had not happened between them, but had nearly been a figment of her own imagination, thinking that he might be about to kiss her.

"Would you like me to have someone bring up breakfast for you and your wife in the morning?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a look that showed she expected the couple to not be in any state to want to leave their cabin the following morning.

"Fine, fine," said Sherlock dismissively, with a wave of his hand, and Mrs. Hudson left the cabin with a smug smile, taking her lantern with her.

Molly gave Sherlock a nervous look. _Now what?_ To her surprise, he seemed to sense her discomfort. "Molly, would you like to take another walk on the deck after we eat our dinner? It is late enough now that nobody should be about, and perhaps we can just talk. After all, we do have a lantern." He gestured at the lantern she had brought in with her.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I would like that," she responded, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. _Perhaps he will kiss me again during our walk,_ she thought hopefully, following him to the table on which the food had been placed.

They sat down together and ate the modest fare quietly. Afterwards, Sherlock picked up the lantern and together, they exited the cabin.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So, Sherlock and Molly are married. What do you think will happen next? Will Sherlock be overwhelmed by passion for her and sweep her off to the bedroom to consummate the marriage immediately?

Did you enjoy the way he informed the crewmen of their marriage? What did you think of Molly's interaction with Mrs. Hudson? I love showing that deer, elderly woman as being motherly. Who caught the little bit of canon from season one, episode two of Sherlock? I couldn't resist!

If you took note of the title cover for this story, you may have noticed that the clothes they are wearing now are the ones from that picture. It will also give you a clue about the next chapter. Are you looking forward to it?


	10. Escape from Passion

**Author's note:** Thanks, dear readers, for the lovely reviews on the last chapter! Eve, I look forward to talking with you when you have an account, make sure you introduce yourself when you do if you use a different name. It's a very nice little community here :)

Read on - things are about to take a rather unexpected turn...

* * *

By the time Sherlock had reached his cabin with John, he had convinced himself that his actions earlier with Molly had been merely due to his heightened emotions after punching the blackguard who had been trying to force himself upon her. Obviously it was some sort of _artificial_ sentiment that had prompted him to kiss her, and his body had responded of its own accord.

Despite the fact that one part of him wanted to explore things further with Molly, the time away from her distracting presence was enough to convince him this _thing_ between them was merely an infatuation brought on by extreme circumstances. He did not have the time to indulge in frivolous pursuits like sentiment, nor the inclination. All he needed to do was to not let things get out of hand again, which he was sure would be easy.

His brain whirled and clicked with possible solutions to his dilemma. Then he suddenly hit upon a solution that had not occurred to him before. He would explain to Molly that he was sorry, but that he did not wish to really consummate the marriage. If and when the time came for them to return to land, he could simply have the marriage annulled. Indeed, he could just tell Captain Lestrade to not file the paperwork for the marriage in the first place, and all would be well.

As soon as they entered the cabin, John said,. "So what was it you needed to discuss?"

"Nothing in particular," Sherlock confessed, with a wry smile. "I just wanted to get away from the...women."

John raised an eyebrow. "One of those women is now your wife."

"Don't remind me," groaned Sherlock, running a hand through his hair.

John frowned at him and folded his arms. "You could do worse, you know. She's actually quite a pretty little thing. Plus her birthright matches your own, and she's an heiress. What more could you want?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Sherlock's lips tightened and his voice held a note of finality in it. John, of course, paid no attention to it whatsoever.

He furrowed his brow at Sherlock. "Why not? She seems quite enamoured of you, and you were certainly not uninterested yourself earlier. I think you could make each other very happy. She might even help to soften some of your edges."

Sherlock's lips twisted in irritation. "Oh, for God's sake, John, it was a mistake. I have come to a decision. I'm not planning on actually _consummating_ the marriage." He began to pace the room. "As soon as we return to port, it can be annulled or, and I had an even better idea, I will simply have Lestrade accidentally forget to file the paperwork. No harm done."

John reached a hand out to stop Sherlock from his pacing and gave him a withering look. "You bloody _moron_. She's out there and she likes you. Do you have the first idea of how lucky you are to have met someone who actually evokes some emotional response in you?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. He and John had been through this before. "Romantic entanglement-"

"Not this again, Sherlock. If you want to ruin what is probably your only chance at actually finding happiness, be it on your own head. I'm going to my cabin now - think about what I've said." He glared at Sherlock and turned to leave.

Suddenly, Sherlock remembered there _was_ something he wanted John's opinion on after all. "Wait. I have something to show you."

John turned back to Sherlock and folded his arms again. "What is it?" he asked, in a resigned tone of voice. _At least he isn't arguing anymore with me_ , thought Sherlock with an inner smile of triumph.

"I brought along some clothes, and I want to know if you think they look sufficiently outrageous enough to make me seem like an ignorant yet titled man," he explained to his friend. Sherlock always respected his opinion and sought his approval quite often on different matters.

John drew his brows together. "I'm assuming this is for when we encounter the pirates?"

Sherlock blew out an impatient breath. His friend was very good at stating the obvious. "Yes of course, now turn your back so I can get changed and show you."

John rolled his eyes, but complied, and Sherlock hastily drew out the clothing from his wardrobe, put the garments on and said, "Okay, you can turn around now. What do you think?"

John immediately laughed out loud at his attire. "Well, you definitely don't look like the Sherlock I know. That outfit is certainly outrageous, especially that long sash."

Sherlock sniffed superciliously and pressed his lips together at his friend's amusement. This was a serious matter. "So you think it will work?"

John merely smirked at the expression on Sherlock's face, and said, "I'd say so. Now can I go to my own cabin?"

Well, at least John approved, even if he did think it amusing. "Yes, yes, of course. Thank you John. I'll see you in the morning." Sherlock waved a hand at his friend dismissively

"I hope I _don't_ see you in the morning, it's your wedding night, after all," muttered John as he left the cabin, and Sherlock knew his friend was clinging to the false hope that he would be too busy with his wife to have any contact with anyone else in the morning. With a sigh, Sherlock sat down at the small table on which he had put the tray of food.

For some time, he sat with steepled fingers in silent contemplation. Why was John trying to make a mountain out of a mole hill? He was content with his life as it was. He didn't need someone in it permanently who would require his protection.

Finally, there was a knock at the door, and he stood, knowing it would be the women. Despite himself, he could not help the look of appreciation he gave Molly at her attire and her lovely unbound hair. It was truly exquisite, and the folded scarf banded around her head gave her almost a gypsy-like look.

He felt once again a little flutter of emotion surge within him and pushed it down, determined to keep it at bay.

Even as he complimented Molly on her appearance, and she noticed his own change of clothes, he felt that inexplicable desire to kiss her again. Fortunately he was distracted from those unwanted thoughts by Mrs. Hudson, having put away the clothes she had given Molly, And he resolved anew to keep control of himself. But why was it so difficult?

After Mrs. Hudson left, the suggestion about taking a walk was more to do with him trying to cool himself off rather than for Molly's benefit. Mrs. Hudson's innuendo about his wedding night had made him very uncomfortable And even more aware of the young woman who now shared his name. _Control, control,_ he ordered himself sternly, as his eyes continually strayed to Molly's lips, and he thought how pleasing it had been to kiss her.

As soon as they left the cabin for their walk, Sherlock decided it was time to tell Molly his plans. He glanced at her briefly as they walked and said, "Molly, I must tell you that I have decided I have no intention of truly making you my wife tonight, or any night, in fact."

Molly looked at him in surprise, and he thought he detected a note of hurt in her voice when she asked, "You do not find me…attractive then?"

He ran a hand through his hair in agitation and stopped walking to look at her directly. "You must understand, Molly. I'm a man of science, not sentiment. I don't know what happened earlier; I suppose it was the relief I felt that I was able to save you. I don't intend for it to happen again." her face fell before his as he continued. "No, indeed; let me tell you what I have in mind." He began to walk again, and she did so as well.

"Okay," she said in a disappointed voice, and he was aware that she obviously had been hoping for more from him. He noticed that her hands were clasped together in front of her, as if she were trying to stop them from trembling.

He didn't want to hurt her, she was obviously infatuated with him, but this was best for both of them. She deserved to find happiness with a man who would truly love her and want to take care of her. "I have decided that once this mission is over, and we return to port, I shall ask Captain Lestrade to not file the papers for our marriage. Nobody needs to know there was even a ceremony. Then we will find a place for you to stay until you are five-and-twenty and can claim your inheritance."

Her gaze lifted to his, and she asked in a small voice, "What about the sailors? Won't they talk about our marriage?"

Sherlock had already thought about this and had an answer ready. "They can easily be bought off. With the reward money I shall receive from this mission, that should be no problem at all. We shall both be free to continue our lives as before." he was quite proud of himself and his brilliance at coming up with such a foolproof plan to extricate himself from this unwanted situation.

They had reached a part of the deck with a large crate which held the extra sails for the journey. "If that is what you feel you must do, I shall not try to dissuade you from it," Molly said, not looking at him, but he heard the anguish in her voice. Then she did look up at him. "Can we rest for a few minutes?" she asked, biting her lip. "It is a beautiful night, and I would just like to look up at the stars for a little while." Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, and Sherlock knew that his words had hurt her.

"Very well." He set the lantern on the crate beside her as she leaned back to look up at the stars. He couldn't help thinking how beautiful she looked, with those bare shoulders and her head thrown back to expose the swan-like column of her throat.

For some minutes he stood patiently, as she continued to look upwards, while he looked at her. Finally, Molly said in a small voice, tilting her head back down to look at him, "Sherlock, may I ask just one thing of you?"

He gave her a questioning look. "If it is within my power to do so, I shall certainly do as you ask."

Her lips trembled slightly, and he could see there were tears in her eyes as she asked, "Would you...would you kiss me just once more?"

 _Just one kiss. That couldn't hurt, could it?_ "Very well, one kiss," he agreed.

He bent forward, resting a hand on either side of Molly, on the crate. Then, as if a magnet pulled him towards her, he kissed her. It was supposed to be a gentle one that lasted merely seconds, but as soon as their lips met, he felt again the sensations he had experienced earlier. This time there were no excuses for his body's reaction to her. _Her mouth moulds so perfectly with mine,_ he thought distractedly as the kiss continued. His brain was telling him to stop but his body had other ideas.

Her hands came around his neck while his moved to pull her closer to him. _Why is this happening again?_

He didn't understand it. He had a sudden urge to kiss those soft, bare shoulders, and followed the impulse. They were indeed as soft as they looked, just like the woman in his arms.

Their lips met again in a passionate kiss, and Sherlock found himself losing control of his senses. It was only when Molly made a little sigh of pleasure that he was jolted back to reality. _What the hell am I doing?_

With a tremendous effort, he wrenched his lips away from hers. "God, Molly, don't do this to me."

She looked at him wide-eyed, with a face that was flushed with passion. "D...do what?"

"Look at me that way, tempt me. I don't have time for this," he said in a harsh tone, even as he struggled to control the fire that continued to leap through his veins. He knew he was being cruel to her, but this was the way it had to be. Her eyes were luminous and immediately filled with tears and he hated himself for it. "Come on," he said a little more kindly. "Let's go back to the cabin."

As soon as they were back inside, Molly said, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just wanted one kiss to…remember you by." He observed that several tears had made their way down her cheeks.

He sighed. "Don't cry, Molly. I'm as much to blame as you were. I allowed myself to get caught up in it." He had a strong desire to kiss away those tears, to abandon everything and just lose himself in her, but he knew it would be a mistake, so he merely added, "I see that Mrs. Hudson gave you a nightgown and left it on the chair there. You should change into it now and then we can say goodnight and go to bed."

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly responded tremulously. She picked up the nightgown, Then she walked slowly into the smaller cabin, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock waited for her to emerge from her cabin in the nightgown. _Why isn't she coming back?_ he wondered after several minutes had elapsed.

He decided to get ready for bed himself, and changed into his nightshirt. When Molly still didn't reappear, he grew impatient and went to the door, knocking on it softly. "Molly?" There was no answer. He turned the door handle and went inside.

From the light that filtered in through his own cabin, he could see she was laying on the small bunk, curled up into a foetal position. By the soft, shuddering noises of her breathing, he could tell she had cried herself to sleep, and his heart ached for her. He hadn't intended for her to have to continue sleeping in this bunk, his bed certainly had enough room for both of them, he had seen that for himself the previous night. She seemed so small and defenceless, and he felt like a brute. This was his fault for giving her false hope.

He bent down and brushed his lips against her forehead, and she made an inarticulate murmur in her sleep. Then he went back to his big, empty bed. It was quite some time before he was able to sleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Were you disappointed with Sherlock's behaviour in changing his mind about things? Does it make you want to just shake him and tell him he is a fool? Believe me, I wrote this, and his change of heart annoys the heck out of me as well LOL. (I did not plan his change of heart in advance. I had no idea it would happen until the scene came out of my mouth into my microphone and onto my iPad. Funny how that happens, sometimes). But, I think it makes sense and fits his character, so I hope you agree.

This chapter contains a scene that corresponds to the title cover of this story. I always wanted to make sure that I inserted a scene that included it. The original image was a manip posted on Tumblr by cumbercougars, which I requested to use. So my thanks to her for it! (She is also the talented person who provided the title cover for my _The Princess and the Scholar_ story). I added the "Love Pirate" title myself, however. So, that picture really did inspire that lovely scene between them that I hope you enjoyed.

Did you notice the little bit of canon in the conversation between Sherlock and John? I always have to add those little things just to keep the story tied in to the series in some way.

I hope you are liking the slow burn of this story.

By the way, my mum is arriving today from Australia, for an extended visit until after Christmas (yay, haven't seen her in over 2 years). I will try to keep up my publishing schedule, but it will be a little more challenging to keep to it. Obviously I want to maximize my precious time with my mum, but not keep my readers waiting too long!


	11. A Heart is Broken

**Author's note 1:** Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. As an extra thanks for those who take the time to review chapter-by-chapter, or most of them, I will be concluding every story with an acknowledgements list, like published authors do. My only compensation for this labour of love is when I hear from readers, and I am always encouraged by those who take the time to put forth their opinions on the chapters. This will be my way of publicly thanking them by name. If readers come to this story late and support it in the same way, I will update the final author's note to add their name to the list. I am well aware that without reader support and encouragement, I could so easily become one of those writers who abandons their writing aspirations and fades into obscurity.

* * *

Molly dragged herself out of bed in the morning. She felt terrible. She had a headache from crying herself to sleep the night before. Last night had been her wedding night and she had so longed for Sherlock to teach her, to make her his. She loved him so desperately, but he had rejected her. He didn't really want her.

She silently walked into the main cabin, selecting at random one of the gowns she had been given by Mrs. Hudson. It didn't matter what she wore anyway. She could have just as easily donned the boy's clothes again, for all the attention Sherlock would give her. Her eyes blurred with tears yet again and she brushed them away impatiently, annoyed at her weakness.

It was as well he was not in the cabin. He must have gone out earlier, to perhaps talk with the captain. Wasn't today the day he was predicting they would meet up with that pirate? He was probably making plans.

There was a tray of food on the table, but she didn't feel like eating. Instead, she decided to leave the cabin and cross the deck to look out over the ocean.

As soon as she did so, Molly saw that the ship appeared to be completely still, and she wondered what was happening. Perhaps Sherlock would tell her when he came back. She was still standing there, when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

She turned to see John Watson approaching.

"Good morning, Molly," he greeted her with a smile. "It must be nice to be able to dress in a woman's clothes once more. I'm sure Sherlock appreciates it."

"I do not think he cares, one way or another," She said in a low voice, turning back towards the ocean and blinking rapidly to hold back a new wave of tears.

"That is not the impression I got when I saw the two of you together last evening. I think Sherlock very much appreciated the fact that you are a woman."

Molly turned back to him. "You are mistaken. 'Tis of no consequence to him that I am a woman. He doesn't want me. He intends to have our marriage not even acknowledged."

John gave her a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry, Molly. I was hoping he would change his mind about that."

"He…he told you his intentions?" _If he has discussed his plans with John, it is for certain he will not change them_ , she thought despondently.

John pressed his lips together briefly, before answering. "I'm afraid he did, and I told him he was a moron. I can see quite clearly that your affections are engaged with him."

"I love him, but he does not love me. I cannot make him love me." Tears spilled from her eyes as she added, "He just wants to be rid of me once we return to Dover." She could not help the tremor in her voice as she added, "I wish I had never met him."

John stepped closer to put his arms around her comfortingly, and she sobbed against his shoulder.

Suddenly, she was pulled away from John's comforting embrace, and Sherlock snarled, "What the hell do you think you're doing, John? I'll thank you to remember that Molly is _my_ wife, not yours."

Molly looked at Sherlock in surprise. His hands were clenched and he looked furious.

John stared at his friend, then said rebukingly, "Calm yourself, Sherlock. I was merely comforting her. She could hardly turn to you for that, when _you_ are the cause of her distress."

Sherlock deflated visibly and his hands relaxed. "I'm sorry, John. I just, well I guess I was mistaken in my thoughts."

John gave him a shrewd look, and folded his arms. "Seems to me you were acting jealous."

"I was _not_ jealous,"retorted Sherlock scornfully. "I merely wish to make sure that nobody, including yourself, attempts to act in an untoward manner with her."

Molly looked at the two men with interest. She could see that John was now becoming rather agitated himself. It seemed they had forgotten her presence when John next spoke.

"And what would you do about it if I _was_ interested in her, Sherlock? You don't seem to want her. What if I decided I wanted to be with Molly instead of Mary?" John spoke in a hard tone, and Molly had the distinct feeling that he was baiting his friend, in order to get a reaction from him.

Sherlock suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. "You wouldn't do that to me."

John raised an eyebrow. "Do what to you? You are a married man in name only, and it seems you wish to not even acknowledge that once we return to port. Would you prefer that Captain Lestrade take an interest? I'm sure I saw a glint of admiration in his eyes last night when he performed your wedding ceremony."

"Keep talking, John, and I will punch you like I punched that sailor yesterday," threatened Sherlock through clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists once again.

John merely laughed and said, "Perhaps you should use your superior intellect to deduce why you are having this reaction."

"I am _not_ _jealous_ ," bellowed Sherlock, raising one of his clenched fists towards John belligerently.

"Methinks the man doth protest too much," said John knowingly, tauntingly. He seemed wholly unconcerned that his friend was acting as if he might strike him.

Molly had had enough of the men's arguing at that point. The last thing she wanted to see was tension between the men once again, or to be the cause of that tension. "Stop it, just stop it, both of you! I cannot bear it. I thought you were friends, and you are acting like enemies." She turned from them and hurried back to Sherlock's cabin, wrenched the door open, went inside and slammed the door. Then she returned to the small cabin and closed that door before throwing herself onto the bunk. Her headache was now excruciating. The new tears running down her face were not helping with that. It was most unfortunate that her cabin did not have a lock on the door, or she would certainly have locked it.

A few minutes later, she heard Sherlock enter his cabin, then there was a knock on her door. "Molly, I need to talk to you."

She made no response. Perhaps he would think she was asleep if she kept very quiet.

Unfortunately, he seemed determined to talk to her, and she heard the door open.

She lay there with her eyes closed, pretending she had not heard him enter.

His footsteps approached and a moment later she felt his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "I am well aware you are not asleep. Please, Molly, listen to me. I'm sorry I upset you. I should not have behaved that way. You probably think I am easily provoked to anger, but that is not usually the case." she felt the bunk dip slightly as he sat on the edge of it. "I have apologised to John for my behaviour, and I hope you'll forgive me as well."

Molly barely heard what he was saying. The pain was now so intense that she whimpered and put a hand to her forehead.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked anxiously. "What ails you?"

She whimpered again, as she opened her eyes and felt as if the room whirled about her. "My…my head. It aches so, and the room is spinning around me."

Sherlock's lips tightened and he thrust a hand through his hair. "God. This is all my fault for upsetting you. I will fetch a small dose of laudanum for you from John."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, as she said, "Thank you, Sherlock." Then she closed her eyes once again, in an effort to stop that feeling of the room spinning about her

He left her then and returned a few minutes later. Molly opened her eyes when she felt Sherlock sit once again beside her, and she gratefully accepted a glass with a small amount of liquid in it. "Drink this, Molly. After you have slept and are feeling better, we will talk, okay?" Her heart beat almost painfully at the note of concern in his voice and the rather tender expression on his face. How could he act so caring with her, yet not wish to be with her as a husband?

She nodded her thanks, lifting the glass to her lips and draining it of its contents. Sherlock took the empty glass and placed it on the chest of drawers, then sat again and took her hand, soothing her by rubbing circles on her palm that, despite the ache of her head, still sent tingles through her. It was not long before she felt the effects of the laudanum as the pain lessened and she became drowsy. She was barely aware of it when Sherlock picked her up in his arms. She made a little sign of contentment and was vaguely aware that he carried her into the main cabin and laid her gently on the bed. She had the vague impression that his lips touched her forehead. Then sleep claimed her fully.

When Molly awoke, she felt much better. The pain in her head was gone and she felt rested. She opened her eyes and sat up.

Sherlock, apparently sensing her movement, turned his attention away from the book he had been reading while comfortably ensconced in an armchair. "Oh, you are awake. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," she responded, clasping her hands together in front of her.

"I am glad to hear it. There are matters I must discuss with you." His voice held a serious note, despite the smile on his lips.

"I am ready to listen." Molly was expecting him to talk once again of their marriage, and the way he had behaved with John earlier, but she was mistaken.

Instead, he said, "I must inform you of what is happening. We are approaching the area in which Moriarty's ship was last seen. Even now the sails are being replaced with the tattered ones we brought, in order to make it seem as if our ship is in distress." He paused, then gave her a rather apprehensive look. "I must ask, do you know how to fire a pistol?"

Molly looked at him in surprise. "As a matter fact, I do. My father insisted that I know how to protect myself."

"Your father sounds like a very wise man," said Sherlock approvingly. There was a slight crease between his eyes as he continued. "Although I am anticipating that we shall succeed in surprising the pirates with our prepared crew, there is always the possibility that things may not go as planned."

"What is the plan?" she questioned curiously, as her heart began to accelerate in fear rather than it usually did because of Sherlock's proximity to her.

Sherlock expelled a deep breath as if to formulate his thoughts before answering. "The pirates seek out distressed ships in particular, usually ones that have sustained damage from storms. They approach the ship as if they are friendly, then board it, capture or kill the sailors and pillage it." At Molly's slight exclamation of horror, he added quickly, "In this instance, we shall be prepared for them with weapons as soon as they are all aboard."

Molly twisted her fingers together. "May I ask why you are seeking out this pirate ship? Is it simply to apprehend the man of whom you have been speaking?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It is more than that. He intercepted a ship carrying priceless jewels for Queen Victoria, and other treasures. My mission is to not only capture Moriarty, but to retrieve the jewels that were intended for the queen." his serious expression changed as a smile hovered about his lips. "If I succeed, I shall be quite a wealthy man."

Molly bit her lip, then spoke. "If you remained my husband, you would be a wealthy man and would not need to do such dangerous missions," she pointed out.

Sherlock's expression darkened at that. "I have no intention of being a kept man, Molly. Being wed at all, let alone to an heiress, is the last thing I wanted. No," he asserted in a way that made Molly's heart feel heavy with pain, "I will earn my own keep. Besides, I have always thrived on excitement and danger. That is yet another reason why I do not need a wife."

"It appears I have done nothing but complicate your life," said Molly miserably, trying, but not quite succeeding, to keep the note of anguish from her voice.

Sherlock walked over to her then and sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of her hands in his larger one. "We must just make the best of things. Of one thing I can assure you, I will not allow you to be forced into marrying another man. At the very least I shall ensure that you attain your next birthday as a free woman who can then claim her rightful inheritance."

Molly wanted to plead with him, to beg him to remain married to her, but she knew his mind would not be altered. She would just have to make the most of whatever time they had left together, and enjoy every moment she spent with him. "Thank you," she murmured, for there was nothing else she could say.

Sherlock then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her hand quivered at the touch of his lips on her skin once again, and she wished he were kissing her lips.

He stood and walked to his dressing table, then opened a drawer. He withdrew a small pistol from the interior. "It is fortunate I always come prepared with several weapons," he remarked. "This pistol is small enough for you to keep on your person. Be careful with it however. It is already loaded."

Molly got off the bed and stood, feeling the sides of her gown. To her surprise and relief, it had a pocket on either side. She held out her hand for the small weapon, and Sherlock handed it to her. The pocket concealed the pistol perfectly, and Molly gave Sherlock a tentative smile. "Now there is no need for you to protect me. I can protect myself,"she declared, trying to put on a brave face for his sake.

A sudden shout came from outside the cabin, and there was a loud knock on the door. "Lord Holmes, Lord Holmes!"

Sherlock opened the door to see one of the younger sailors. "Begging your pardon, sir, but we believe the pirate's ship has been spotted. Anderson was up in the crow's nest using his spyglass and he is certain he saw it."

"Inform the crew and make sure they are ready with their weapons, while I speak with the captain," Sherlock ordered the man, who nodded and departed.

Molly suddenly felt terror wash over her. This was truly happening, and there was no telling what the future held.

Sherlock was smiling to himself. "Ah yes, the game is afoot." The smile on his lips faded when he turned and saw Molly's stricken face.

He took a step towards her. "Molly, for now I want you to remain here. If something happens and the crew is captured, hide if you can. If you are discovered, use whatever means necessary to protect yourself." Then he added reassuringly, "I am sure it will not be necessary, however. The pirates have no reason to suspect we are armed and ready for them, so I am certain all will be well. I must leave now and talk with the captain."

Molly couldn't help herself, she closed the remaining distance between them and flung herself against his body, putting her arms around his waist and holding him tightly. "Be careful, Sherlock. I could not bear it if anything happened to you."

His arms came instinctively around her in a protective manner, and he held her close. "Fear not, little one. I shall be fine. You'll see."

"I will be praying for you." She looked up at him then with tears in her eyes, and, as if he could not help himself, his lips came down on hers.

She had not been expecting it, and her mouth opened in surprise, even as thrilling sensations washed over her once again. Unfortunately, even as she longed for him to continue, he thrust her away from him with a groan.

"God, Molly," he rasped. "Why must you always tempt me so?" He sounded almost angry and she backed away from him.

"I…I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to..."

"I know, I know," he muttered, and to her it seemed as if he was making a conscious effort to reassert control. After a few moments he said in a more normal tone of voice. "Lock the door, Molly. Do not open it unless I tell you it is I."

"Yes, Sherlock," she whispered, as her hands clutched at the skirt of her gown.

She followed his instructions, locking the door as soon as he had exited.

Then she leaned her forehead against the door, closed her eyes and prayed with all her might that Sherlock would be safe and that the mission would be successful.

And even as she prayed, she said silently in her heart, _I love you. I love you._

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** How did you find that conversation between Sherlock and John? Do you like the way Sherlock is acting all jealous and he doesn't even recognize it as jealousy? I'm a big fan of showing Sherlock as being totally oblivious to certain things LOL.

So, the confrontation with Moriarty is almost at hand. Are you anxious to find out what will happen next? Will Sherlock succeed in his mission or will something go wrong? What do you think? You tell me. Then we'll see who is close in their own deductions!

What is it going to take for Sherlock to realize he is in love with Molly?


	12. A Sacrifice for Love

Sherlock waited to hear the click of the lock behind him, then he breathed a sigh of relief. For now, Molly was safe. He touched his fingers to his lips. They still tingled from when he had kissed her, well, perhaps not literally, but he had certainly found the kiss had affected him more than he would have liked. He just couldn't understand it. Why did she affect him so?

He wished he had more time to dwell on matters, to go into his mind palace and really sort through his conflicting feelings, but he simply did not have the time.

He walked quickly to the captain's cabin. He noted that the tattered sails had been erected successfully and that there were several crewmen around, looking vigilantly out to sea.

He knocked at the door to the captain's cabin and was bidden to enter.

Upon doing so, Lestrade rose from his seat. "Well, it appears our quarry is in sight. How fortunate it is that you had one night alone with your bride before this happened, is it not?" He gave Sherlock a conspiratorial wink.

Sherlock flushed. "It is not what you think, Lestrade. We are married in name only. It was necessary for me to have you perform the ceremony in order to protect her from the other crewmen once she was discovered to be a woman. I have been meaning to speak with you about that." He spoke in an authoritative tone.

Lestrade looked at him in surprise. "She is a rather attractive young lady," he remarked. "What is it you wish to discuss about her?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "If our mission is successful, as I am confident it will be, and we return to port, I ask that you do not file the documents to validate our marriage."

The captain looked uncomfortable. "That would be very unethical, Lord Holmes," he said, frowning slightly at the younger man.

Sherlock had been worried the captain might react this way, so he hastened to explain his reasoning. "Perhaps a little unethical, " he agreed honestly. "However, it would be easier than having to have the marriage annulled. I would prefer to not be required to employ those measures." Sherlock hoped the captain would see the logic in his words.

Lestrade furrowed his brow slightly. "I must say, that is rather a pity. If I had known you did not intend for the marriage to be legally binding, I would have taken her off your hands myself. I have been looking for a wife for some time, and I think she would have suited me admirably. I do not understand why you even had me perform the ceremony, if you were not intending for it to be legal." Now there was a note of accusation in his tone.

Sherlock felt both embarrassment and anger wash over him. He did not like the idea of Lestrade lusting after his wife, short-lived though his marriage might be. "I will be frank with you, Lestrade. When John and I first discussed how it would be best to protect Molly, he suggested marriage would be the most fitting solution. I did not immediately think of merely making a pretence of it."

The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully before responding. "Nevertheless, you have shared a cabin with her. Do you not think that her honour is compromised, even if you have not consummated the union?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.

The captain was right. He had flippantly assumed it would be easy to buy the silence of the crewmen, but what if mention were made that he and Molly had indeed shared a cabin?

He took a deep, steadying breath. "I had not seriously considered the ramifications of that," he admitted in a low voice.

Lestrade gave him a considering look. "I have an idea, if you will permit me to share it with you."

Sherlock sighed. "Very well. How do you propose I proceed with this situation? We really should not be discussing this now, with Moriarty on the horizon, so quickly, now."

"When we return to port, I will take her as my wife instead. We will forget that I performed your marriage ceremony. She will then have the protection of my name, and the dishonour of her being with another man will no longer be relevant." There was a smile upon the captain's lips as he spoke, as if he very much anticipated having Molly for his own wife.

Anger flared within Sherlock, however. Despite the logic of the captain's words, he simply did not like the idea at all. He tried to put forth a reasonable explanation for his doubt. "What if Molly refuses you? You cannot force her to marry you if she does not wish it."

The captain merely shrugged. "That is true. However, if it is a matter of living in dishonour for the rest of her life as a fallen woman, thanks to you, or being the wife of a respectable sea captain, I would hope she would choose the latter."

Sherlock knew he 'should' feel relief that Lestrade was willing to take Molly off his hands, but he wasn't. Instead, he felt a boiling rage he couldn't understand at the thought of another man, any man, being with Molly. It just didn't make sense, and it confused him.

He didn't have time to reflect on these inexplicable emotions however, for a knock sounded on the door.

Upon being invited to enter, Sherlock saw it was the same sailor who had come to his cabin a short time earlier.

"The other ship is coming closer, Captain Lestrade, Lord Holmes. It is approaching quickly. Some of the more experienced crewmen have said that at the rate it is travelling, the ship will be close enough to send its crew over on rowboats within the hour."

Sherlock suddenly realised he had completely forgotten to wear the clothes he had shown John the night before, clothes that would hail him as an ignorant nobleman. He needed to lull the boarding pirates into a false sense of security with his apparent foppishness and vapid mannerisms.

"Is the crew ready yet to act upon my say so?" he asked the young man.

"Yes, my lord. They know their positions, and those in hiding will be waiting for your signal when the time comes."

"Excellent." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "I'm afraid I must return to my cabin. It is important for me to don the clothes to fool the pirates into thinking I am nothing more than an ignorant young nobleman whose ocean voyage has gone terribly amiss. I will return shortly."

Lestrade nodded and Sherlock headed back to his cabin. He turned the handle and was pleased to note that it was locked. He knocked softly. "Molly, it's just me. Let me in."

He heard the sound of the door being unlocked and she opened it. Her face was stained with tears. "Surely things cannot be over so soon?" she asked, searching his face for any indication of why he had returned so quickly.

"No, indeed," he answered, as she stood aside to gain him entrance. "The other ship is approaching and will be here in under an hour. I neglected to change into my clothing to make it appear I am nothing more than a foolish simpleton of a nobleman. I must put on the clothes I was wearing last night when we walked on the deck together."

Molly looked at him, biting her lip anxiously. "I don't know how anyone would be able to think of you as a simpleton, Sherlock," she said sincerely. "Your face is full of intelligence, not vapidity."

He was touched by her words. Nevertheless, he could not change his plan now and the ruse did not need to last long. "Thank you for thinking that, Molly. I only need to keep up the pretense for a few minutes, and then the crew will subdue the pirates and Moriarty." He spoke confidently, but suddenly a trickle of apprehension ran through him. What if Moriarty saw through his disguise?

Molly seemed to be thinking upon those same lines. "Sherlock, if you will permit me, I have an idea that may help you to appear less intelligent than you truly are."

He looked at her inquiringly. "What do you propose?"

"I have noticed that you do not wear your hair in the fashion worn by most men of the nobility. I suggest you pull your hair back into a ponytail. It will make for a more severe look on you, and may give the illusion that you are hoping for, at least initially."

He considered her words thoughtfully, then nodded. "That is an excellent suggestion. However, I have nothing with which to tie my hair back."

"Would a strip of material suffice?" she suggested. "When I was altering the length of the britches I was given, I had to cut it. The excess material is still in the box with the other sewing supplies."

He gave her an admiring glance. _Not only beautiful, but exceedingly intelligent,_ he thought to himself inwardly, then wondered why he was thinking such things. "Yes, I think that would be an acceptable substitute."

Sherlock walked over to the wardrobe in which he had hung his clothes the night before, drawing them out and placing them on the bed.

He watched Molly rummaging in the box with the sewing supplies, as he unbuttoned his shirt. He unfastened his trousers as well, noting that Molly was making a conscious effort to not look his way.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, pulling out a thin strip of material and retrieving a pair of scissors with which to cut it to a suitable length.

Sherlock pulled on the trousers and then the shirt. Molly looked up at him then, as he picked up the vest. "Would...would you like me to help you with the vest and the sash?" she asked shyly.

He smiled at her. "That would be most appreciated."

Hesitantly, she took the vest from Sherlock and helped him to put it on, before tying the sash around his waist. "If you sit down, I will pull your hair back and tie it with the material," she said, and he nodded his assent.

He pulled out a chair on which to sit and noticed something on the table. It was a Bible. Apparently Molly had found one in the bookshelf.

"You were reading the Bible before I came in?" he questioned, looking at Molly in some surprise.

"Yes," she said, blushing slightly. "I found it in the bookshelf and was reading some Psalms to comfort myself, and then I was praying for you."

Sherlock's mouth fell open. As far as he knew, nobody had ever prayed for him before. He remembered that Molly had said earlier, before he left the cabin, that she would pray for him. Apparently her words were not merely platitudes. He might have known she was a woman of faith, he supposed. Her manner was that of a woman who was soft and caring.

He said no more but sat patiently and felt her lifting his hair. Her fingers grazed his neck lightly as she worked to fashion his curls into enough order for the ponytail, and he felt his skin tingle where she touched it. He felt her pull the material tight before knotting it so it would remain in place.

He noticed that Molly had a second, smaller strip of material in her hand and wondered what it was for. His question was answered when she moved to stand in front of him and lifted the hair from his forehead, pulling it back as far as possible, and fastening it also with the remaining strip of material, obviously managing somehow to attach it to the first strip of material so it would be secure. His chest tightened as she leaned into him and he saw the soft swell of her breasts through the material of her gown, which he was tempted to touch. He still could not understand what it was about her that attracted him so, despite himself.

"Much better," she proclaimed, oblivious to his internal thoughts. Unexpectedly, she added with an upward curve to her lips, "Although I must say, I much prefer your hair in its natural state."

"Thank you, Molly," he told her sincerely. He stood and looked down at her, seeing the soft expression in her eyes. Once again that uncontrollable urge to kiss her came upon him. He lowered his head to offer her a gentle kiss on the lips. That simple touch once again ignited a flame within him, but he forced it down and, with a decided effort, lifted his head . "I must go," he told her. "Remember to lock your door again," he instructed.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, feeling her tremble at his touch, then he left her, exiting the cabin quickly to return to the captain.

Lestrade was not in his cabin, however. He was on deck with the other crewmen who had been assigned to stand with them. Sherlock realised he had been absent for longer than he was planning, due to the extra time it took for Molly to secure his hair in the ponytail.

Lestrade glanced at him. "The ship is yonder," he told Sherlock in a tense voice. "It is as well we did not tarry any longer. Two rowboats have already been dispatched and are making their way towards us." He gave Sherlock a curt nod. "The hair is a definite improvement in making you look a little more ordinary," he remarked.

Sherlock raised a hand to his hairs self-consciously. "It was Molly's suggestion," he admitted. "She pulled it back for me, which is why I took longer than expected."

Lestrade shot him a rather shrewd glance. "An uncommonly fine woman. I shall look forward to having her for myself."

Sherlock's lips tightened, but he forced down that same anger once again and merely asked, "Do you have your pistol?" and Lestrade nodded. He himself had no weapon, not wanting Moriarty to be forewarned. Sherlock, of course, would be the spokesperson when the pirates arrived on deck. "Lower the rope ladders," he commanded two of the crewmen, who moved to the edge of the deck to unroll the ropes and lower them.

As Sherlock waited, he mentally thought about what to say, how to pitch his voice higher and to sound desperately grateful for help.

The men stood silently and waited for several minutes, and then there was the unmistakable sound of men ascending the rope ladders.

The first man to set foot on the deck looked fairly ordinary, Sherlock thought to himself. He was short and rather unprepossessing. However, on closer inspection, there was something in his eyes, something sinister and hateful, and Sherlock knew immediately this was Moriarty. He was certainly confident of himself, in being ready to board before anyone else. Sherlock had to give him credit for that.

Sherlock looked at the other man and began his prepared speech, adopting the higher pitched tone and excitability of a young, rather naïve man.

"Thank you for coming to our assistance," he began, as several more men climbed aboard.

He flicked a glance over at Lestrade, who was still standing beside him, looking rather tense.

Moriarty gave him an appraising glance, but said nothing.

"Yes, well, as I said, we are very grateful to you-"

It was then he saw a slight nod from Moriarty and realised immediately that things were not going to go as planned.

With lightning speed, the criminal pulled out a pistol from a hidden pocket and trained it straight at Sherlock's head. By this time, several more men had climbed aboard the ship and they also withdrew a various assortment of weapons - blunderbusses, pistols and musketoons, and were pointing them at the gathered sailors.

Somehow, they had been betrayed. Moriarty's normal method was to wait for his entire group of pirates to be assembled on board, before he initiated any hostile action. Sherlock had been counting on the element of surprise from his own men, and saw he had miscalculated.

There was no way he could signal the hidden men to emerge now or there would be a firefight and definite casualties. Instead, he looked apprehensively as Moriarty circled around him, keeping out of range of Sherlock's arm. When he had made a complete revolution around Sherlock, at last he spoke.

"Well, well, the famous Lord Sherlock Holmes. Your reputation precedes you."

This was interesting, Sherlock thought, as his brain tried to process the information. Somehow, Moriarty had recognised him, even with his hair back.

The criminal continued. "You've caused me no end of trouble, subverting my plans in the past and opposing me at every turn."

Sherlock suddenly remembered that he had indeed been the cause of some of Moriarty's criminal activities going awry. He could have kicked himself for his foolishness and arrogance in thinking Moriarty would not be prepared. But the question still remained, how had he been recognised, and how was it that Moriarty was prepared for this?

Obviously, the only solution was for him to ask the question. "Very well, Moriarty. I will not spend time in pretending I have no idea what you are talking about. I would like to know, however, how you came to be aware of this. Who betrayed us?"

Moriarty smirked. "You should know better than to talk while servants are in the room."

"Barrow!" hissed Sherlock, immediately understanding to whom Moriarty was referring. "I _knew_ there was something not right about him, but he has been in my brother's employ for several months."

"Oh yes," responded Moriarty with a sneer., "I have been watching you for a long time. You have been a constant thorn in my side with your continual fight for justice. Barrow has been most helpful indeed. His latest information is what has put you in this position of being at my mercy."

Sherlock swallowed. What was Moriarty planning?

"You can't be allowed to continue," Moriarty told him, as a cruel smile curved his lips. "You just can't." Moriarty turned his attention to two of his pirate henchmen. "Go find the doctor and the old woman. The doctor will probably be in his cabin up here, and I expect the old woman will be down in the galley."

Sherlock felt horror wash over him. Was he planning to kill everyone aboard then?

The men hastened to do Moriarty's bidding, and Sherlock kept his gaze fixed on his nemesis. The man's arm never wavered as he continued to direct the pistol at Sherlock's head.

"I've beaten you, Lord Holmes, and in the end it was easy. It turns out you're ordinary just like everyone else." There was a strange note in his voice, and Sherlock was certain the man was insane, which made him even more dangerous. There was just no way to predict what he would do.

"What is it exactly that you want, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked him tersely, trying to keep the dread out of his voice.

"Oh, you're going to jump off this ship and kill yourself," said the man matter-of-factly.

Sherlock stared at him in shock. "And why would I do that?" Even as he spoke, he could see John being led towards him with Mrs. Hudson not far behind. Pistols were pointed at both of their heads as well.

Moriarty made a gesture to another of his men who trained his weapon on Lestrade.

Moriarty gave an evil grin. "Let me give you a little extra incentive." He motioned to the men who were training weapons on Lestrade, John and Mrs. Hudson, and the hostages were lined up against the deck railing.

Sherlock could no longer conceal the horror in his expression as Moriarty said, "Your friends will die if you don't. There's no stopping this now, unless my people see you jump overboard."

Sherlock swallowed again. He knew he was trapped. "If I do this, will you give me your word that you will let them live?" He knew it was probably a foolish hope, but some chance was better than none. If he had to die to protect his friends, then so be it. His only regret would be that he couldn't tell Molly.

"I give you my word that your friends will survive if you jump overboard," said Moriarty, with a twist to his lips.

"Please, give me a moment," Sherlock told him, moving slowly towards the railing.

"I will give you one minute," allowed the criminal, not lowering his pistol for an instant.

Sherlock placed his hand on the railing and closed his eyes. A sudden image of Molly crept into his mind. He hoped she at least was safe. Then in a blinding flash he realised what he had not seen before. The feelings she evoked in him, the jealousy he felt at the thought of another man possessing her crashed into his psyche and exploded. What an utter _fool_ he had been. He had had a chance with her the night before, and he had thrown it away. He was glad Moriarty was at least not aware of her, perhaps she would survive this. She _had_ to survive, because he loved her. He understood now this was not the infatuation he had felt many years earlier. It was the love a man felt for a woman who possessed his heart, a love that he was willing to die for, just as he was willing to die for his friends. And now she would never know it.

"Your minute is up," he heard the sneer in Moriarty's voice.

"No, Sherlock, don't do it," cried Mrs. Hudson in stricken tones.

He turned his head and gave her a sad smile. "It is what it is, Mrs. Hudson. Forgive me for bringing you into this." Then he looked at John. "I should never have brought you into this either. If Moriarty has any honour at all and releases you, please remember the woman we were discussing earlier and tell her I was a fool." He swallowed, then continued, "Tell her I love her."

His voice broke on the last word, and he blinked back tears, as John responded. "I will do that, my friend. I'm glad you finally faced the truth." His friend's voice was sorrowful.

Even as Moriarty laughed at him, taunting him with an, "Oh, the poor man will die a virgin," Sherlock took a steadying breath and steeled himself for the cold embrace of death.

 _At least Molly will know I loved her, after all,_ he thought numbly, as he began to climb the railing.

.../.../.../.../.../.../

 _ **Back in the real world**_

In his bed at Baker Street, Sherlock rolled over and groaned. His eyes flickered open when he encountered a soft body and a squeak of protest from said body.

"Sherlock, you're crushing me!" grumbled Molly. "So much for me getting into bed without waking you and getting some sleep myself."

"Molly, sweetheart. Thank God." His arms pulled her so she was on top of him, and he began to kiss her urgently, passionately, the anxiety caused by the dream manifesting itself into his actions of desperate longing.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, it had to take something huge to make Sherlock aware of his feelings! What do you think will happen next? How will he survive? I know some of you were expecting him to realize his feelings because Molly was in danger, but I decided to take a different route with this.

I do hope you liked the way I tried to bring in some canon-like stuff from TRF, with a different twist. Sherlock will always be willing to sacrifice himself for his friends - that is what makes him a man who is so much more than he himself thinks he is.

So, did anyone guess the footman from the first chapter might come back into it? Did you even remember Sherlock was a bit suspicious of him? By the way, I borrowed the scheming character from "Downton Abbey" (same with Mrs. Patmore in the first chapter).

In case you hadn't realized by the way I ended the chapter, the next one takes place in the "real" world of my Sherlock and Molly, so it will be a little longer till you find out what happens.

As always, reviews appreciated, and they are a definite motivating factor when it comes to publishing. I'm already a little nuts to be publishing 3 different stories at one time, because the proofreading/editing process is quite intense!


	13. Love at Forty

_**A real world interlude**_

Sherlock continued to kiss Molly passionately, aware that the dream had served to stir his emotions, inflame his desire for her. Her body was so soft, warm and inviting.

Molly pulled her mouth away from his to demand, "What has happened to get you into this state, Sherlock?"

He opened his eyes to look at her, feeling very grateful that he had only been dreaming. "It was another one of your bloody Barbara Cartland books. Can we talk about it after we've made love?"

Molly giggled. She was straddling him in the manner in which he had pulled her on top of him. "Maybe I don't _want_ to make love right now," she taunted him, sitting up and wiggling against him in an erotic manner that suggested otherwise.

Sherlock groaned and reached up to trail his hands along her breasts. "Vixen," he murmured, doing his own teasing, which elicited a soft gasp from her.

It wasn't long before they were both busy with their touches and caresses. Sherlock allowed Molly to set the pace - for a time. Then he took control, grasping her hips firmly and driving them both into joyful ecstasy and fulfillment.

She flopped onto him as their chests heaved, and they struggled to regain their breath. Sherlock enjoyed the feeling of her chest against his, as he stroked her back softly, contentedly. _I wonder how many other forty year old men are enjoying this kind if passion?_ he wondered, smirking to himself.

"What on earth is that smile - or should I say _smirk_ , about?" Molly asked him curiously, her chin resting on his chest so she could look at him.

"Oh, I was just wondering if many men my age are enjoying such frequent intimacies of a sexual nature," he responded honestly, as his hand stroked her hair.

"Oh, as in having a lot of sex?" asked Molly playfully, with a smirk of her own.

Sherlock frowned at her. "You know I dislike that turn of phrase. Besides, it reminds me too much of what you said about you and your ex-fiancé."

"But you know that wasn't true, and I was just trying to provoke a reaction," she pointed out, reaching forward with her hands to give his shoulders a calming squeeze, "even if I failed abysmally at getting one from you."

"Well, I couldn't let down my guard with you, even if I _was_ pretty certain you were not being truthful." His hands caressed her back. "Nevertheless, getting back to the subject at hand, you shall never hear that phrase from my lips. The point is, I very much enjoy making love with you, and doing it frequently. I hope we can continue to do so for many years to come."

Molly responded with a smile and placed a soft kiss on his chest. "If I have anything to say about it, we will." She continued with, "Well then, what is this latest dream about? It certainly elicited some strong emotions from you."

Sherlock stroked his hands down her back lazily. "I was Lord Sherlock Holmes, on a government sanctioned mission to apprehend Moriarty, who had become a notorious pirate."

"Sounds dangerous," commented Molly, giggling a little at his light touch. "Tell me more."

"Well, Lestrade was the captain of the ship, and I had John act as my first mate, and Mrs. Hudson as the cook on the ship I was using, which happened to be called _The Sherrinford_." His fingers continued to dance lightly along her back until she squirmed and shifted off of his body. Immediately he felt regret at the loss of her warmth.

"Stop tickling me like that, or I will move away from you properly," she warned and he reluctantly moved to just hold her instead. "Now where do I fit into this? Unless of course it was some other woman you were dreaming about." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Of course you were in it, my love," he assured her. "Actually I have something to tell you first about that high-induced mind palace dream I had, the one that happened when I had just left for that one-way mission after the whole Magnussen thing."

Molly furrowed her brow at him. "You never told me anything about that."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "I guess I didn't think it was that important. In that dream-like state, I imagined myself in the Victorian era. You were there, and you were working in the morgue disguised as a man."

Molly chuckled. "That makes sense, I guess. I don't suppose too many women would have been involved in a profession like mine back then."

"Indeed not," agreed Sherlock, unable to resist the temptation to pull Molly closer to him. "What was really funny, is that you were wearing a false moustache and I didn't even realise you were a woman, yet John did."

Molly laughed. "Isn't one of your catchphrases the fact that you always miss something?"

This time Sherlock joined her with his own chuckle. "That is absolutely correct, and it proved true once again in this dream."

Molly raised her head a little to look at him properly. "Are you saying I was disguised as a man in this dream as well?"

Sherlock's lips quirked at the remembrance of the dream Molly with that ridiculously enormous bulge in her britches. "You were indeed. You were a young lady who was to be forced into marriage with her stepmother's lover. After overhearing a conversation between John and myself, where he said my cabin boy, Wiggins, had been struck ill with food poisoning, you decided to take his place."

"Oh my, you are going to have to tell Billy he was in your dream," Molly said with a grin.

"You haven't told him that he featured in _your_ dream as my valet," Sherlock pointed out, recalling the dream she had had of them being a prince and princess.

"I suppose that's not the sort of thing one necessarily talks about, people featuring in their dreams. They may start to get an inflated opinion of themselves," Molly conceded, as her eyes twinkled. Then she reached to gently tug on one of his curls. "But tell me more about how I managed to trick you into thinking I was a man."

Sherlock grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his hair and placing it on his chest. "You and your obsession with my hair, woman! Quit distracting me."

Molly pouted at him. "But it is so silky and springy, and I can't help myself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her. "Very well. Apparently your obsession with my hair outweighs your curiosity about the dream. Guess I'll just go back to sleep now." He deliberately shut his eyes as if in preparation to do just that.

He felt Molly's toes brushing lightly up and down his leg. "Aw, come on, honey, don't be like that. You know you _want_ to tell me about your dream." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Now, tell me how I was able to fool you into thinking I was a man."

Sherlock opened his eyes again, and his lips twitched. "Seeing as you asked so nicely..." He kissed Molly's forehead before continuing. "I believed you to be a boy, rather than a man. The most amusing part was that you had put stockings in your britches, and I thought you were rather well endowed for such a young lad."

Molly burst into laughter at that. "This dream sounds like so much fun. Did you find out I was a woman, then?"

"Eventually. Of course, I discovered that John had figured it out from the beginning. To cut a long story short, soon after I found out you were a woman, another sailor discovered it and decided he wanted to force himself upon you. I happened to come along just in time, punch him and take you back to my cabin." He gave Molly a sly look. "Then things got a little, uh, _heated_ between us."

"Mmm, sounds rather sexy," she commented, leaning over to kiss Sherlock on his cheek. He moved his head quickly so their lips met instead, and he flicked those sweet lips of hers with his tongue, drawing a little gasp of surprise from her.

"Who is being the distracting one now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock grinned. "Alright, I'll behave. Getting back to the dream, John interrupted us and then said we would have to marry so I could protect your virtue, because you had been discovered as a woman. Lestrade performed the honours. Later you got some women's clothes from Mrs. Hudson. By that time I was regretting marrying you and trying to get out of it. It seems dream me was just as much of an idiot as I was with you before Sherrinford happened."

Molly sighed. "This dream is quickly going downhill."

"I know," answered Sherlock solemnly. "We spent our wedding night in separate cabins. The next day everything went down with Moriarty. I ended up in a situation similar to what really happened before I jumped off the roof of Barts. Moriarty had had a spy who informed him of my movements, and instead of surprising him with our weapons when he boarded our ship, he surprised us first. He said his men would kill Greg, Mrs. Hudson and John if I did not jump off the ship to my death. It was then that I realised I loved you, and I told John to let you know. Then I began to climb the railing in order to jump overboard."

Molly gasped and reached a hand to squeeze his bicep. "And what happened next?" she enquired breathlessly,

Sherlock looked at her worried face. "I can't tell you, sweetheart. That's when I woke up."

"The dream _can't_ just end there," she exclaimed in horror, biting her lip as a crease formed between her brows.

"I suppose I shall just have to hope it picks up where it left off, much as our dreams have had a habit of doing in the past," he told her, bending his head to kiss her gently.

"Then you had better go back to sleep right now," Molly informed him, tapping her finger on his chest as if to stress the point.

"You are becoming quite the bossy lady, my love," he told her, grasping her hand and kissing it, before placing it back on his chest.

Molly pursed her lips. "I'll make you a deal. If you will try and go back to sleep and continue the dream, I will let you rest your head on my shoulder so I can soothe you to sleep."

"Now that sounds like a very good plan." He shifted his position downwards as Molly scooted closer to the headboard. He then laid his head on the softness of her shoulder, close to her breast as she put an arm around him and stroked his curls in a loving, protective manner. There was something so comforting when Molly held him that way.

He moved his free arm onto Molly and placed a hand gently onto her belly, briefly thinking about the baby she was carrying. He allowed her soft, even breathing to relax him. He thought about the dream, willing it to continue until finally, sleep claimed him once more.

As had happened on the last occasion a few weeks earlier, in which he had had a Barbara Cartland style dream, it manifested into his consciousness and continued, but began at a slightly earlier point in time from Molly's perspective after she had been left alone in the cabin initially while Sherlock had gone to talk to the captain.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope this little interlude didn't take away from the story too much. I do like to have these glimpses into the "real world" during these Victorian era stories. I know, I'm probably the only person who has ever done anything like that, but I do love my _real_ Sherlock and Molly, and it is fun to show a glimpse into their life to highlight the fact that this is a dream.

So, now that I've made you wait an extra chapter to find out what happens, are you on the edge of your seats with anticipation? Put on your thinking caps and share your deductions about what the next chapter contains.

Don't forget to keep those reviews coming to get your own acknowledgement in the final chapter!

I _might_ try and publish the next chapter this week if enough people respond.


	14. Saved by an Angel

_**The dream continues**_

After Sherlock had left for the first time to see the captain, and she locked the door behind him, Molly sat at the table and buried her face in her hands, praying for his safety.

After a few minutes, she went over to the bookshelf, looking for something to distract her. Her eyes alighted upon a Bible and she pulled it out.

Molly had grown up in the church, in fact, she had attended Sunday services all her life until her father's death. The Bible was a comfort to her, and she took it back to the table, opening it to the Psalms.

She was drawn to one in particular, Psalm 23. It had, in fact, been read at both her mother's and father's funerals.

 _The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,_ she read, mouthing the words silently and going through the comforting verses, taking strength in them.

 _Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil._

She felt as if the words touched her soul and were being spoken to her heart. Tears came to her eyes and fell down unchecked. They were tears of both sorrow that Sherlock did not love her, but relief that she felt God speaking to her. She was praying silently once again when she heard the knock on the door and Sherlock's quiet voice.

She knew things couldn't possibly have been resolved so quickly, but of course, she still had to ask.

When he had explained about the clothes, she had suddenly realised how his hair could betray him as not being an ordinary nobleman who followed the current fashion trends without question. It had been quite thrilling to tie his hair back, to feel the softness of his curls through her fingers.

All too soon he was gone again, but at least she had the memory of one more kiss. She lifted her fingers to her lips remembering the exquisite sensation that his tender caress had stirred within her.

Suddenly, she felt restless. Despite Sherlock's words of caution, something inside her told her she needed to do more than just stay in the cabin.

She paced the room silently, contemplating what she might be able to do. Then she heard the sound of an elderly woman's voice raised in fear, and knew something had gone wrong.

She waited a minute after the sound had receded, and quietly opened the cabin door, looking around carefully to make sure nobody was about.

Something told her Sherlock was in danger, and she knew it was God. As quietly as possible, she moved along the deck, keeping a constant vigil that nobody should see her. Everything seemed quiet until she passed the captain's cabin.

Then she heard the sound of voices and her heart nearly stopped.

She heard a man taunting Sherlock, threatening to kill his friends if he did not kill himself, and her mouth dropped open in horror. Molly moved closer to the sound of the voice, keeping in the shadows so she would not be seen. Fortunately there was nobody facing her way.

Then Molly heard Mrs. Hudson's voice pleading with Sherlock to not do it, to not jump overboard. She heard Sherlock soothing Mrs. Hudson and then her heart began to pound when she heard Sherlock's next words to John.

"I should never have brought you into this either. If Moriarty has any honour at all and releases you, please remember the woman we were discussing earlier and tell her I was a fool. Tell her I love her."

For a moment Molly wasn't certain she had really heard it, that he had actually said those words. After a moment however, she knew there would have been no reason for him to say something like that if it were not true, when he was about to die for his friends, and she knew he was talking about her.

And suddenly, as if a voice was guiding her, she knew what she had to do to save the man she loved. John spoke, and then Moriarty taunted Sherlock once more. Carefully she slipped the pistol out of her pocket. She had a clear shot of Moriarty, whose back was to her, and she prayed silently that she would not miss. There would be no second chance if she missed her target. Using her other hand to steady herself, she pulled the trigger.

Everything that transpired after that seemed to happen in slow motion. Moriarty slowly fell forward from the impact of the bullet that pierced his skull.

The pirates were completely nonplussed at what had happened, but John and Lestrade both had the presence of mind to act immediately, taking advantage of the momentary disorientation of the pirates. They turned as one and knocked out the men who had been aiming weapons at them. Mrs. Hudson also was not idle; she used her elbow, pushing it with as much force as she could into her captor's groin. The man doubled over in pain and she took hold of his gun.

The Sherrinford crew who had remained in the shadows, unsure of what to do, suddenly took action and were able to subdue the remaining pirates.

Sherlock, however, having heard the report of the gun, had turned to see what had happened. Molly stepped out of the shadows and raised a hand towards him as she dropped the pistol from her other hand. Suddenly, she became aware of the magnitude of what she had done. She had just killed a man.

Even as her mind processed this, and the fact that Sherlock and the remaining crew members were safe, she felt herself falling into blessed oblivion, crumpling to the deck.

She came to, vaguely aware of the feeling that a man's arms were around her and she was being rocked gently to and fro. Then she heard Sherlock's voice.

"Molly, my precious, my love. You saved me, my sweet angel, you saved us all."

She could hear a faint buzz of conversation in the background, Captain Lestrade giving orders to procure ropes to restrain the pirates, John's voice confirming to someone, "Yes, it was a clean shot. He's dead."

Molly's eyes flickered open and she could see Sherlock's blue-green eyes looking at her as tears ran unashamedly down his face. "Sherlock," she whispered.

She was unable to say any more because his lips came crashing down on hers. He kissed her forcefully, desperately, conveying to her everything he felt about her. Her mouth opened under his and she savoured everything he gave her. Blindly, with her free arm, she reached out to his hair, using her fingers to tug at the material that constricted his beautiful curls and pulling it away, then reaching higher to remove the one that kept the rest of his hair bound. Her fingers caressed those newly released curls as waves of delightful sensation rippled through her.

Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks as they mingled with his own, and they continued their embrace, mindlessly losing themselves in each other for some time, until they were pulled back to reality by Captain Lestrade.

Molly was a little puzzled by his words, although Sherlock tightened his arms about her. "I'm guessing you want to keep her, then?"

Sherlock raised his head and addressed the captain. "Lestrade, I was a damned fool," he responded, rising to stand and pulling Molly gently up to join him, as he curled a possessive arm around her waist.

"Can't say I'm not a little disappointed, but you did see her first, and for some reason she seems rather taken with you," remarked the captain, with a twist to his lips.

"What is he talking about?" Molly asked, looking from one man to the other in puzzlement.

"It is not important," Sherlock told her, kissing her forehead. "All that matters is that I finally realised that I love you. I thank God I have been afforded the opportunity to tell you myself."

She looked up at him. "It was God who told me what to do. I knew I had to do something to save you."

"And so you acted as His angel, my sweet, brave Molly," Sherlock said tenderly. He leaned in towards her as if he would kiss her again, but Lestrade interrupted them.

"I must apologise for breaking up this undoubtedly joyful reunion, but we still have a mission to complete, Lord Holmes," commented Lestrade, as a smile played about his lips.

Sherlock sighed and looked at the captain. "Are the pirates in restraints?"

"Those aboard this ship, yes," responded the captain. "However, we need some men to go to the other ship and secure it as well, then look for the treasure."

"You are right, of course," agreed Sherlock. "But you know the most reliable, well trained men better than I. I suggest you assemble them and then we will go over to _The Black Pearl_."

Molly clutched at his arm convulsively. "No! You must not. I cannot lose you now."

Sherlock cast her a loving glance. "You need not fear any consequences this time, my love. The remaining pirates will not know what to do without their master, and I am certain they will surrender easily. We will take Moriarty's body with us as proof of his death as well."

Molly shuddered at the thought, but nodded her head, trying to be brave.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson approached. "You dear, dear child. How brave it was of you to save us all that way." She looked up at Sherlock. "I hope you know what a fine wife you have found."

"Indeed I do," said Sherlock, smiling at the elderly woman. "Will you take Molly with you to prepare some food? I must go with some men to the other ship and search for the treasure."

Of course, dear boy. Come now, child," replied the elderly woman.

"One moment, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock told her, before tilting Molly's chin up for one last kiss, a gentle one this time. "As soon as I get back, I will come down to the galley, my darling. Stay with Mrs. Hudson until then," he instructed.

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly said softly, thrilling at his use of the word _darling_.Then she turned and obediently followed Mrs. Hudson downstairs.

It felt like the longest two hours of her life until Molly saw her husband appear at the doorway of the mess hall, where she was sitting with Mrs. Hudson, along with several other crewmen.

In full view of the crew, Sherlock swept Molly into his arms and kissed her, before saying, "It is done, my love. All of the pirates are in our custody, and we found the treasure in the hold, not just Queen Victoria's jewels, but much more."

The crewmen, who had overheard, cheered at the announcement. They knew that this news meant they would be sharing in the reward.

Molly leaned her head against Sherlock's shoulder and lifted her face to his. "It's really over then?" she asked softly.

Sherlock caressed her face with his hand, "Yes, it is over, my darling." Then he bent close to her ear and added in a voice that only she could hear, "and tonight I am going to show you how much I love you, and we will pretend that tonight is our wedding night."

Her eyes were shining as she responded just as quietly, feeling her heart race with excitement, "I am looking forward to it, my love."

There was a general air of merriment in the mess hall after that, as the sailors who had accompanied Sherlock to _The Black Pearl_ related what had happened. Much ale was drunk in celebration. John joined the festivities, along with several men and the captain some time afterwards. Moly heard him speaking quietly to Sherlock, saying that Moriarty had been buried at sea. His death would be reported as an accidental shooting with no further details, so Molly's name would not be involved.

John sat then with Sherlock, Molly, the captain and Mrs. Hudson, and they all enjoyed a glass of ale in celebration.

It was John who commented after some time, "Well, Sherlock, hadn't you best be taking your wife upstairs? It is getting rather late, and I think you have rather urgent matters to attend to."

Molly blushed as Mrs. Hudson, John and Captain Lestrade exchanged knowing looks.

Sherlock seemed at ease, however. "I think you are right, John. It has been a very long and eventful day, and I think it is time for us to retire for the night." He rose as he spoke and took Molly's hand, helping her to stand also. He nodded at the trio and said, "Good night."

"Good night," echoed Molly shyly, and they exited the mess hall together.

As soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone, Sherlock smiled at Molly and they walked together hand-in-hand to his cabin, a cabin that was now _their_ cabin.

Sherlock opened the door and stopped her from entering, saying, "I believe it is traditional for a groom to carry his bride over the threshold."

He lifted Molly into his arms and carried her into the cabin, set her down, then closed and locked the door.

Molly looked up at him shyly, unsure of what to expect next.

Sherlock reached out and took both of her hands in his, then asked, "Can you forgive me for the way I behaved last night? I was such a fool, to not understand my own feelings and push you away like that. I am sorry that it took a crisis for me to realise how I felt about you." He flashed her a wry smile. "I think I was afraid of my own emotions."

Her lips curved upward. "There is nothing for me to forgive, Sherlock. I understand that you were just trying to do what was right. But now…will you please kiss me again?"

Sherlock chuckled. His arms came around her and he pulled her close. Then his lips were on hers They were demanding, possessive, and she responded to his touch, feeling little flickers of flame rise within her. He laid a trail of fiery kisses downwards, tracing a line to her throat and frantically beating pulse even as his hands moved to unfasten the buttons of her gown.

Task accomplished, he tugged the material downwards, exposing her shoulders, so he could kiss one, then the other. Pushing the garment down still further, he helped Molly slide her arms from the sleeves and then he was touching her breasts, caressing them. She gasped with pleasure when he replaced his hands with his mouth, kissing one breast, while caressing the other, then repeating the action with her other breast. She whimpered at the sensations he was arousing in her, blindly fumbling for his shirt buttons and unfastening them one-by-one until his chest too was exposed. His breath hitched as she trailed her small hands along his strongly muscled pectorals, feeling the way his heart was beating at an accelerated rate.

And then he was kissing her again as her hands shifted to clasp around his neck, fingers tangling into the curls at the nape. He pushed her gown further until it slid down below her hips and she stepped out of it.

Sherlock lifted Molly into his arms and carried her over to the bed, removing his mouth from hers to murmur huskily, "You are so beautiful, my darling. I want to be closer to you. I want to make love to you."

"Yes, Sherlock," she whispered, her own voice laced with desire. "Make me yours." She drew his head back down to hers.

Their kisses became more urgent, even as Sherlock slid a hand beneath her drawers to cup her bottom and caress it briefly, before dispensing with the rest of their clothes. Then he covered her body with his own and there were no more words, but the sounds of passion between a man and woman who loved each other, as they gave their bodies to one another for the first time.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Finally, they are together. Did it fulfill your expectations? I hope the wait was worthwhile!

What did you think about the way Molly saved Sherlock? This time she got to personally save him, rather than just help him defeat Moriarty as happened in the show. I wanted to show how brave she was, and her faith as well.

Is this the end of the story? Is it time for the real Sherlock to wake from his dream, or are there still unresolved issues ahead? What is your personal opinion on what's going to happen next?


	15. The Ship Of Love

**Special note:** I wanted to make sure I got this chapter up before Christmas (despite coming down with a cold at the last minute, ugh). I wish you, my dear readers, a blessed Christmas as we celebrate the birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. May the joy of the season be with you throughout the coming year. How appropriate that in this chapter Molly even talks of her faith to Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock glanced down at the woman in his arms, marvelling at her softness and her warmth.

 _What an arrogant fool I was_ , he thought to himself, _thinking a bed warmer at night would be as good a substitute as the warmth of a beautiful woman._

he kissed her hair. "Did I hurt you, my sweet?" he asked her tenderly.

Molly moved her hand from his chest where it had been resting, to touch his face, raising her own to his and smiling with utter contentment. "Not at all, my love. You were magnificent, in every way," she declared softly. "I never knew it would be possible to feel like that, to feel such... _ecstasy_."

 _Ecstasy, that described it exactly._ "Nor did I, my little love. You have evoked in me feelings I never knew existed. How is it possible that I should have found a woman such as yourself, someone so perfect, so selfless?" His voice held a note of passion in it that was impossible to conceal.

She gazed up at him with her limpid chocolate coloured eyes, furrowing her brow a little. "Do not put me on a pedestal, Sherlock. I am not perfect." Then she quoted, "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." *****

"I assume that is something from your Bible?" he guessed, remembering she was a woman of faith.

"Yes it is. It is something I learned as a young girl. But I also learned to put my faith in our Saviour, Christ Jesus." Her tone was sincere, even as her gentle smile was.

Sherlock blinked in astonishment. These were the words of a woman of devout faith, who apparently lived by them. He could not dispute that something had apparently led her to him, to save him just in time. "You will have to share more about what you believe with me, my precious. But for now, I suppose we should get some sleep. There will be many things to take care of before we return to shore." He stroked her hair and she made a murmur of contentment. Then they both slept.

Several hours later, Sherlock woke to find his body burning with desire once again. It was so strange, so unexpected. Molly was still lying curled into him with her arm on his chest. He used his free hand to feel the softness of her body. His light touch awakened her and she smiled at him, lifting her face to invite his kiss.

He kissed her sweet lips with lingering kisses that demanded a response from her. She pressed her body against his eagerly, and he acted accordingly, lavishing her with touches and caresses until she was begging him once again to make love to her, which he gladly did, pouring his love for her into physical actions that confirmed how much he loved her, adored her, driving them into a world where nothing existed but the two of them and their love.

Once again they fell asleep in blissful contentment, and when next they awoke, it was morning.

Molly stretched and yawned sleepily, then turned, cuddling into Sherlock . "What did Captain Lestrade mean yesterday by saying you wanted to keep me, and that you saw me first?"

Sherlock groaned inwardly. He had been hoping this topic of conversation would not come up, that she had been too traumatised by the events of the previous day to think about it. "It really isn't important, my love. Just forget he said anything," he hedged.

Molly moved away from Sherlock's embrace and frowned at him. "You are my husband and we should have no secrets. I want to know why he said what he said."

Sherlock sighed, there was nothing for it but to tell her the truth and hope she would forgive him yet again. "We had a conversation about you shortly before things went down with Moriarty. It was when I was still convinced I had made a mistake in marrying you."

Molly's lips thinned. "So when he said you saw me first, that seems to indicate you offered me to him because you didn't want me." Sherlock reached a hand towards her, but she brushed it aside.

"Listen to me, my darling," he said desperately. The last thing he wanted was for there to be a rift between them when they had just experienced the most perfect night he could ever have imagined. "I didn't offer you to him. He offered to take you off my hands, to marry you instead."

Molly's mouth opened in horror. "And you considered that a viable option to get rid of me?" Tears shone in her eyes and she raised a hand to slap his face.

Sherlock caught her hand easily, and used the opportunity to pull her towards him. "Look at me, Molly!" he demanded, and she complied, with trembling lips. "I hated the idea. I didn't agree to it. We were interrupted mid-conversation with the news that Moriarty's ship was coming closer. I was already having confusing feelings in regard to you. I believe, given a few more minutes, I would have realised at that point that I loved you." He turned her hand over and kissed the palm. "Forgive me just once more, my love. Please, Molly." He bent towards her and thankfully, her expression cleared.

"I forgive you, I'll always forgive you." She moved close to him once more, and he took possession of her mouth in a lingering kiss, running his hands along her body, thankful that everything at last was truly in the open, and that she loved him so much, despite his faults. "God, how I love you, my sweet," he murmured.

"As I love you, Sherlock," she responded passionately, moving her body against his invitingly, temptingly, and he did not waste the opportunity to seek fulfillment with the woman he loved once again, taking them both to the heights of ecstasy.

Sherlock would have liked to stay in bed with Molly all day, continuing to explore this newfound love and passion he felt so deeply, but he knew there were matters to attend to.

Some of the pirates were very young, and Sherlock felt they could turn their lives around if given a chance. He wished to speak with those men and determine if some of them would like to help crew _The Sherrinford_ , while some of Lestrade's trusted men brought _The Black Pearl_ back to Dover. Several of those men were already preparing to transfer to the other ship, but it would leave both ships a little undermanned. Even the use of half a dozen extra men would be helpful.

Quietly, so as not to disturb his wife, who had returned to sleep, Sherlock got out of bed and dressed. He then went to see Captain Lestrade.

A few hours later, _The Black Pearl_ was dispatched towards Dover with enough crewmen on board to man it successfully. _The_ _Sherrinford_ , with its steam engines, would easily be able to overtake the other ship, so Sherlock was in no hurry to begin the return journey until he had interrogated the prisoners.

Several more hours later, Sherlock and the captain had successfully recruited eight of the younger pirates to help with the running of _The Sherrinford_ , in exchange for lighter sentences once they returned to shore. Then the schooner too was underway. The return journey would not take more than three days if they plotted a straight course, which they had been unable to do earlier while looking for Moriarty's ship.

Sherlock had just finished speaking with the young men and instructing them on what he expected from them, when John walked up to him. He dismissed the young men to their tasks and they scurried off. Then he turned to John with a smile.

"This has been a very successful mission, has it not?" he remarked with a grin.

John stared at him. "You certainly seem a changed man, Sherlock. I do not think I have ever seen you look so happy."

"John, it is not happiness I feel, it is joy. That is something I have never experienced in the past, and now I have it with Molly. I can scarce believe it myself that I should finally have come to understand what you have talked about for so long."

John grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "Didn't I tell you having a woman to warm your bed is far preferable to a bed-warmer? I am rather surprised you have not spent the whole day with your sweet lady wife."

Sherlock flushed slightly. "I would have certainly liked to do so, but my duties to the ship and crew had to come first. Now however, all that is settled and I anticipate we should have a smooth journey home. I hope you will forgive me if you do not see much of me before we return to Dover. After all, I have certain duties I must attend to with regard to my wife."

John chuckled. "You have certainly earned it, mate, and I am glad of it. Should I have Mrs. Hudson bring trays to your cabin so that you need not leave it until we reach port?"

Sherlock gave his friend a grateful look. "I should be in your debt if you would make those arrangements. It appears I have many years of catching up to do when it comes to learning about how to please a woman."

John merely shook his head in amusement.

For the next three days, the schooner was fortunate enough to be untroubled by poor weather. Due to the steam engines, it was expected to arrive in Dover a full day ahead of The Black Pearl, which it had overtaken within the first day. Sherlock did indeed spend the entire time in his cabin, getting to know the sweet young woman who was now his wife. They made love frequently, exploring one another's bodies and enjoying their uninterrupted time together. When they weren't making love or sleeping, they could be found playing chess or reading and discussing the Mendelev book together. Molly had also begun to open Sherlock's eyes in regard to the truth of the Bible which he had dismissed as ludicrous fiction in the past, but had come to understand held wisdom that he had not ever considered.

On the third day, there was a knock at the cabin door, and John's voice could be heard. "Sherlock, the harbour is in sight and we should be docking within the hour. You had best make sure you have everything packed. You know your brother is going to want to debrief you on the mission. Won't he be surprised to know you are married?"

"Thank you for letting me know, John. I'm sure news of my marriage has reached his ears already, thanks to communications between the ship and shore. In fact, I should not be surprised if he is waiting as soon as we disembark," Sherlock called back to his friend. He was not in a state to answer the door, because he was naked in the bed, having shortly before enjoyed the delights of his wife's body once more.

He listened for the sound of retreating footsteps then sat up, pulling Molly up with him. "I suppose we should get dressed and get ready." Then he noticed that Molly was biting her lip nervously. "What ails you, my love?" he asked in concern. This was the first occasion in which he had seen a pensive look on her face, since they had been sharing the marriage bed.

"I am worried about what might happen when we go ashore. I wouldn't be surprised if my stepmother knows by now that I escaped aboard your ship. What if she is waiting for me to return, to punish me?"

"Your stepmother cannot harm you now, Molly," he assured her confidently. "We are wed, and once Lestrade files the paperwork to make it official, she will not ever be able to frighten you again. If it makes you feel better, we shall also post an announcement in the newspapers to say we are wed."

She nodded, but Sherlock could see by her troubled expression that she still felt anxious.

In under an hour, the ship had docked and the gangplank had been lowered. Molly had been watching the shore already, while Sherlock made sure everything was ready for their departure. He joined her at the railing."Will you be glad to return to dry land?" he asked her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She turned her head and looked at him with a smile. "I suppose so, but considering I have never been on a ship before, I think I am a reasonably good sailor, except of course when there is a bad storm."

"Well, I must admit, I am rather glad we had that storm, because that is when I learned that you were a woman." He kissed her lightly, then looked out to the shore and narrowed his eyes. He was not surprised to see his older brother standing there waiting. Undoubtedly Mycroft would be wanting a full report from him with all the details of what had happened. He gave a little sigh.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" Molly asked, leaning her head back against his shoulder to peer up at him.

"I see my brother, and that means I shall be required to immediately give him a report on what transpired during the voyage. I suppose I will have to have John accompany you to the inn."

"Are we…are we staying at _The Fox_ again?" Her voice trembled a little as she spoke, and he realised she was still fearful of her stepmother.

"I wish we had another option, my love, but _The Fox_ is far and away the best Inn in Dover. It has been over a week since we left, so your stepmother will most likely no longer be there. I shall have John make inquiries about her also, to make sure she is no longer staying there." He gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze.

"Very well," she answered, and he knew she was trying to be brave.

As soon as they disembarked, Mycroft approached the couple. "Well, brother mine. You never cease to amaze me. You leave on a mission as a woman hater, and return with a wife."

Sherlock flushed. He had known his brother would take great enjoyment out of mocking him for his earlier views on sentiment. "Laugh all you want, Mycroft. I concede that my earlier notions were foolish. And now, I would like to introduce you to my wife, formerly known as Lady Molly Hooper."

Mycroft took Molly's hand and kissed it perfunctorily. "I am very pleased to meet you, Lady Molly, and may I say, I am also most gratified that you have taken the care of my brother off my hands."

Molly gave a delighted giggle. "Please, just call me Molly. I am your sister-in-law now, after all." She glanced up at Sherlock, then back at his brother. "I am the one who is fortunate that he chose me, and I look forward to taking care of him for the rest of my life." She spoke in a soft little voice that throbbed with passion, and Sherlock's whole being vibrated to it. How he loved this woman. He was truly the most fortunate of men.

Mycroft gave her a rare smile, and Sherlock knew his brother approved of his choice. "I shall look forward to getting to know you better, Molly," he said sincerely. "For now though, I hope you will forgive me if I take your husband away for a short time. We simply must discuss the mission and the events surrounding it."

At that moment, Sherlock spotted John, who had just disembarked as well. "There's John now," he said, raising his hand to get his friends attention. He turned to Molly and said, "I will leave you in John's capable hands as soon as he gets over here, and once I have finished speaking with Mycroft, I shall be along."

Molly nodded as John joined the little group. "Did you need something, Sherlock?" asked the doctor.

"Indeed I do, John," answered Sherlock with a nod. "I must go with my brother now and discuss things. I was hoping you would take Molly to _The Fox_ and get her settled in. I would also like you to make inquiries about her stepmother, and make sure she is no longer in the vicinity."

John nodded his acquiescence. "I shall take care of it, Sherlock."

"Thank you my friend." He placed a hand briefly on John's shoulder in thanks, then looked once again at Molly. "Tomorrow, we should go shopping and find you some women's clothes to wear for now, until we return to London. Then I intend to take you to the best establishment and order a whole trousseau for you." He then looked at Mycroft. "I assume the reward for the return of the treasure is still the vast amount you were talking about?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed, brother mine. You will be wealthy enough to retire from these dangerous missions, and I have a feeling that now you might actually consider doing so."

Sherlock smiled. "I think you may be right." He turned to Molly and gave her a last, lingering kiss, then watched as she gave him a parting wave and accompanied John to the waiting carriage that would transport them to the inn..

Once the carriage had departed, Mycroft turned his attention to Sherlock. "I am most anxious to discover how you managed to find yourself a woman at last."

Sherlock grinned. "It's a long story."

Then he followed Mycroft to the place that had been arranged for his debriefing. He hoped it wouldn't take too long, because he was very anxious to get back to his wife. Unfortunately, by the time everything had been explained to Mycroft's satisfaction, including how he had managed to meet and marry Molly, it was almost two hours later.

Mycroft had arranged for food to be brought for them, and Sherlock ate hungrily. Finally, however, he felt anxious to leave and see Molly. He could not leave Dover immediately, because _The Black Pearl_ was only due to arrive the following afternoon, and he needed to be on hand for its return. After the treasure was safely brought to shore, Sherlock fully intended to take the fastest carriage back to London and enjoy an extended honeymoon with his wife. As he ate, he noticed the sky darkening outside the window and suddenly, the heavens opened and he could see rain coming down as it drummed on the roof of the building.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mycroft," Sherlock informed his brother, before taking his leave to make his way back to the inn and Molly. He had to shield his eyes with his hand as he made his way to the carriage, and noted the ground was already becoming muddy.

Sherlock settled himself gratefully into the seat of the carriage, and it set off for the inn at a slower pace than usual, due to the pelting rain.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I must credit Mamabear04 for her suggestion about Molly wanting to know what Lestrade had meant with his talk the previous day about Sherlock wanting to keep her, and her subsequent feelings of anger that Sherlock would even consider passing her to someone else. I hadn't even thought of bringing that up again, but I think it turned out okay. Even the best relationships have conflict!

If you are familiar with the term love languages, my primary one is: **Words of affirmation** – using words to build up the other person. An example of this is: "Thanks for doing the laundry." Not – "It's about time you did the laundry." Positive reinforcement is an important aspect to feeling productive and creative, (although I'm happy to receive constructive criticism of my work also).

I like to use words of affirmation for others, and I find I respond best when I receive the same. Feedback from my readers puts the bloom on my rose, and I give thanks to those of you who understand that, because I assume that may also be your primary love language :) I might just write a one-shot about what I think Sherlock and Molly's love languages may be!

A tip for you: If you read in a place where reviewing is not possible/easy, you can always leave feedback at a later time. I almost always do that with the stories I read. Take a few moments to "tip" your favourite authors when you have the chance :)

 ***** Romans 3:23


	16. The Frightened Bride

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay on publishing this chapter, although people aren't clamouring for it to continue and requesting an update. Apparently others have been busy with Christmas/New Year stuff, so I guess I need not be too concerned about taking longer than usual. I have actually still been busy publishing my Christmas story, so that was my focus, if any of my readers here would care to read any of my other stories. There are four more chapters after this one. If you really do like this story and would like to see an update more than once a week, your reviews could persuade me to bump up my publishing schedule, so make sure you let me know if you are anxious to see what happens, (that includes guest reviewers too). If once a week is better, I'll begin publishing a different story concurrently with this one.

* * *

Molly gave a last wave to Sherlock, then turned and walked with John to the waiting carriage.

A coachman assisted her to step inside, and John followed, seating himself across from her. Once they were settled, and the carriage had begun moving, John remarked, "You have certainly transformed my friend over the past several days. I have never seen him look so happy."

Molly beamed at him, her hands smoothing the skirt of the grey gown she had received from Mrs. Hudson several days earlier. She couldn't wait to have new gowns with which to allure Sherlock. Of course, he seemed to enjoy it most when she wore no clothes at all. She blushed at the wayward thought and lifted her eyes to respond to John's comment.

"Sherlock is everything I could have wished for in a man. He is handsome, intelligent, and he listens to what I have to say about things, without trying to force his own opinion upon me. We have had several lovely debates and I'm pleased to say that I have even won some of them." She smiled, recalling the way Sherlock had finally acknowledged that God was real, and that everyone had a purpose in life.

John leaned slightly forward in his seat across from Molly. "What is your secret? How is it you were able to capture the heart of the most unattainable man in London?"

Molly shrugged and folded her hands in her lap, smiling slightly. "I have done nothing but love him. The mystery is why he loves me in return. I am certainly no great beauty."

John gave her a considering look. "You may not have the golden hair or black tresses that so many women aspire to, but I believe you have an inner beauty that shines through. I am thinking that is what Sherlock noticed about you, and obviously you are an intelligent, well-read woman as well. Sherlock does not suffer fools lightly, and I am sure he would never have had an interest in one of those women who knows nothing of life beyond hosting dinner parties and gossiping with her friends."

Molly nodded. "It is true that I have been well educated. My mother was a nurse. If not for my father's insistence that I remain well read on a purely intellectual rather than practical level, I would have liked to find a similar position as my mother." She looked down, and a shadow crossed her face as she remembered how loving her mother had always been, even when she had been in her last days.

"And what, may I ask, happened to your dear mother?" asked John gently.

Molly raised her eyes to his. "She contracted tuberculosis from one of the patients at the hospital where she worked. That was one of the reasons my father refused to allow me to take up a profession. He blamed himself for allowing my mother to continue her work after their marriage, and he said he did not wish to lose me." She gave a little sigh, then added, "I am very grateful, however, that my father allowed me to at least be educated in more than what ladies of fashion usually receive instruction in. I should have been bored stiff with lessons only in comportment, hostessing and embroidery. Of course I did have these lessons as well, but they were in addition to mathematics, English literature and science."

John smiled at her, then turned his head toward the window as the carriage slowed, then stopped. "Ah, it appears we have reached our destination. It is fortunate that _The Fox_ is so close to the harbour," he remarked.

Molly felt at prickle of apprehension run through her again. She still feared that her stepmother might be nearby and very angry.

The coachman opened the door to the carriage and helped Molly alight from it. She looked around the coachyard a little nervously. There were only three other carriages in the yard, aside from their own – a phaeton, a barouche, and a rather dirty, nondescript-looking closed carriage. Lady Florence's brougham was nowhere in sight. Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

Having exited the vehicle, John came to stand beside Molly. "I am assuming none of these belongs to your stepmother?"

Molly shook her head. "No indeed. My stepmother has a brougham with quite distinctive yellow markings on it."

John nodded. "That is good to hear. Let us go into the inn now and see if our rooms are ready." He offered his arm to Molly and she took it, walking with him into the inn.

John inquired about their rooms and was informed that they were being cleaned, and would be ready in an hour or so, so he suggested to Molly that they have a meal while they waited.

Molly was quite pleased to accept the offer, because she and Sherlock had not had time to eat before disembarking from _The Sherrinford_ , and she was indeed quite hungry. It was very quiet in the dining room and the tables were almost empty. Molly was pleased to enjoy a quiet meal with Sherlock's friend.

Afterwards, they went upstairs to their rooms, which were now ready. John left Molly at the door to her room and said, "I will make some inquiries about your stepmother and then I shall return and let you know if she has indeed left the vicinity."

Molly touched his arm and smiled gratefully. "Thank you, John. That would make me feel much better. I will be glad when we are able to leave this place and return to London."

John left her then, and Molly entered her room. This one was obviously the biggest and best one the inn had to offer. She noticed that the coachman had already brought in the luggage, most of which belonged to Sherlock, of course. Her gaze drifted over to the king-sized bed and her heart gave a great thump at the thought of spending the night in it with Sherlock. She missed him already and was anxious for his return.

She went to the washbasin to wash her face and hands, then sat upon the bed, thinking dreamily of her husband. When a knock sounded on the door ten minutes later, she opened it immediately, anxious to know what John had discovered about her stepmother.

But it was not John who stood at the door.

Before she had a chance to react and try and close the door, it was pushed open. Even as she opened her mouth to scream, she felt a cloth with a sweet smell being pushed against her nose and mouth. She struggled against the immediate sense of dizziness that overwhelmed her, even as she recognised the fish-like, dead eyes of Charles Magnussen. In her last moments as the world darkened around the edges of her vision, she struggled to remove the ring Sherlock had given her as a wedding ring and dropped it on the floor. Then she knew no more.

Molly opened her eyes to darkness, feeling suffocated. She immediately grasped the fact that her face had been covered by some sort of material, and that she was in a moving carriage. She was laying sideways on a seat, and she heard voices speaking across from her. She strained to listen, keeping very still, so as not to alert anyone to the fact that she was awake.

"We should be there any minute at the church," came the voice of Florence Hooper.

"Good." came the reply. "I assume you have greased Smith's palm enough to make sure the date of our marriage is listed as the night before your stepdaughter's disappearance?"

"Of course I have, darling," responded the woman with a caressing note in her voice." He is being extremely well paid, and he understands how important it is that the date listed proves your marriage to have taken place at that point."

"It is indeed fortunate that we were able to discover from that half-witted stable boy, what your stepdaughter had done."

"Yes, I am only sorry that she had already departed on that ship before we were aware of what was happening," came the peevish response. "If only I had thought to check on her after we returned to the inn - of course we were otherwise occupied with more _interesting_ things at the time." There was no mistaking the throb of passion in Florence's voice. Molly felt sick at the thought of her stepmother being intimate with that horrible man, and then expecting her to marry him.

"It was clever of you to ask around the inn and discover that those men were looking for a replacement cabin boy," remarked Magnussen admiringly. There was a short pause, and Molly could hear the sound of them kissing, which repulsed her.

When the voices started speaking again, Molly was filled with fear at her stepmother's next words. "It is quite fortuitous that I overheard that man yesterday mentioning to someone else that his brother had somehow managed to get himself married aboard ship. I suppose the little chit thought she would be able to escape her fate by revealing herself and begging that lord to marry her. I will show the little strumpet that she should never have thought to cross me."

There was a cold, hard note in Florence's voice, and Molly felt her heart pound with terror. Her stepmother was ruthless. She remembered the conversation where the woman had talked about using a special medicine on her to prevent her from escaping her fate, and now Molly feared that this was inevitable. If the marriage certificate claimed she had been married already for over a week, her real marriage to Sherlock would be invalidated.

With the corrupt parson's willingness to lie about the date of the nuptials and having his claim backed by Florence and Magnussen, it would be three against one. No court in the land would take the word of a young girl above that of three other people, including a titled lady. Although Molly felt like screaming, she remained silent, waiting to hear more.

"It is as well we were able to watch for your stepdaughter's return, and to find that back exit from the inn, so I could smuggle her outside to the carriage we were able to procure. Thank goodness for easily bribed maids and a few words of flattery which enabled us to discover the room the girl was in. I am very glad we shall soon have the money from my future wife's inheritance. I will certainly need it after spending almost my last guinea on this plan of yours, Florence."

Horror washed over Molly, as she realised there was nothing she could do to save herself. All she could do was pray that Sherlock would find her in time. She hoped he would find the ring on the floor and guess that something had happened to her.

 _Please God,_ she prayed silently. _Help Sherlock to find me and save me._ She had saved him once, now it was his turn to do the same.

She forced herself to push down the waves of fear assaulting her to listen again as Florence said, "Charles, we shall soon be rich beyond our wildest dreams." There was a note of triumph in the woman's voice.

Molly felt the carriage slowing down, and moments later, it halted.

"I presume you have the special medicine with you that will make your stepdaughter agreeable to signing her name on the marriage register?" came Magnussen's voice once more, as Molly heard the sound of the coachman climbing off the box in front.

"Of course I do," purred the evil woman. "As soon as she causes any sort of trouble I will force her to drink it. Speaking of which," she added, "Shouldn't she be waking up soon?"

"It should be anytime now. It really depends on how much of the chloroform she inhaled." came the response.

There was a churlish note to Florence's voice as she said, "I would hope it will be soon. It has taken us an unconscionable amount of time to reach the church. I do wish you could have hired a carriage with more than two horses."

"It was all I could afford, my dear," was his apologetic response. "Besides, you cannot blame me for these terrible roads and the mud we had to travel through. It was unfortunate that blasted wheel was stuck in the mud for thirty minutes however. If hat farmer hadn't come along and offered his assistance when he did, we might still be stuck." Molly heard the sound of the carriage door being opened.

She decided her best option, in order to give Sherlock as much time to find her as possible, if indeed he were even able to find her, would be for her to remain still and pretend she was still unconscious.

"Thank you, Barnes, please return to your seat on the box and I will call you when I need your assistance. Remember my promise that you will be paid double if everything goes as I expect it to," said Magnussen to the coachman.

"Yes sir," said the man respectfully, and he closed the door to the carriage once more.

Molly remained still, listening intently. What was Magnussen planning on doing next?

Her question was answered, when she heard the sound once more of him kissing her stepmother. Florence made several gasps of pleasure as presumably her lover was using his hands to touch different parts of her body. "Oh, Charles," the woman said in a breathy tone, "You always feel so good."

"I want you, Florence, my love," came the husky response and Molly shuddered internally, horrified at the thought that they might decide to Indulge their passion for one another even as she lay there.

To her great relief, Florence eventually said, after some more sounds of kissing, "Now, now Charles. Not here. Once you've married my stepdaughter, you can spend your wedding night with me in my bed. The drugs will leave her insensible for hours after the wedding."

"You are too cruel to me," whined Magnussen. "My body is aflame with desire for you."

Molly could hear the sound as he let out a soft exhalation when Florence obviously pushed him aside. Her voice was stern as she told him in no uncertain terms, "We do not have time for this now, Charles. Smith will be ready and waiting in the church and we need to get this done. I must see that Molly is awakened so that we can get into the church and I can administer the drugs."

And with that, Florence pulled off the cover that had been over Molly's face.

Molly could not help the cry of pain that escaped her lips from the unexpected stinging slap to her cheek that immediately followed, and her eyes opened, blinking at the sudden light.

"Oh good, you are awake," said Florence in a tone of grim satisfaction. Then she slapped her again and Molly whimpered, as tears sprang to her eyes. "You have caused me no end of trouble, you little harlot," hissed the woman. "How _dare_ you try to escape me! I am the one who is entitled to your father's money, and now you will pay for your little act of rebellion."

"Please…do not do this, Stepmama," Molly begged even as she knew the woman would not listen. She only knew she should keep her talking as much as possible before she was forced to take the medicine. Perhaps she could convince her stepmother that she would cooperate?

"I am sorry, Stepmama, I was frightened. Please don't hurt me anymore. You… you can have my money. I will sign it all over to you." She sat up and rubbed her cheek, which was still stinging.

Florence gave her a cold stare. "It is too late for that. Perhaps if you had said something earlier, we could have come to some arrangement. But now you will do exactly as I say. I will have your money and you will cooperate." She turned to Charles. "Tell your coachman we are ready to bring her into the church now."

Magnussen nodded, then rapped his knuckles on the roof of the carriage to alert the coachman, who appeared moments later, opening the door once again.

"Help me get the girl into the church," ordered Magnussen.

Molly tried to struggle as Magnussen grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back, then continued to hold her as the coachman bent down to take her feet. They managed to exit the carriage, bumping Molly's back painfully in the process as the coachman alighted first, and slipped slightly.

Molly observed that it had been raining quite heavily apparently, because the ground was extremely wet and muddy, although the rain had lessened by now to a mere drizzle. Small wonder the coachman had slipped.

 _Save me, Sherlock,_ she whispered again in her heart, _save me_. She remembered the way he had come to her rescue that night on the deck of the ship. But in that instance, he had been close by. This time he had to be miles away and may not be able to find her in time. All of a sudden she was no longer able to contain herself and she heaved a great sob, allowing the tears to fall from her eyes, mingling with the rain that fell gently upon her face.

The men were carrying her towards the church entrance, and Florence was standing beside her, complaining bitterly all the while that the ground was muddy and her slippers were being ruined. Molly felt rather wildly that if there was one silver lining in this horrible mess, it was that being carried meant her own slippers were being kept from the mud. The older woman looked at her contemptuously, almost as if her discomfort was Molly's fault, as Molly continued to cry silently, even as the light rain caressed her face almost in sympathy. She tried once again to struggle, to no avail. The men were too strong.

Finally they reached the door of the church and Florence pushed it open. The coachman set Molly's feet down onto the floor. Molly thought about asking him for help, but the man had a hard look about him and she realized he did not care about anything except what he would be paid.

Another man approached them then and Molly bit back an exclamation of fear. The person had an ingratiating crooked-toothed smile. He was not a tall man, but she saw the evil in his eyes and knew he too cared nothing for anyone. He wished only for money.

"Everything is ready, Lady Florence," he announced grandly, gesturing behind him. Molly could vaguely see an altar at the front of the church with two lit candles, one on either end of it.

She struggled again, but was slapped viciously once more by Lady Florence. Because her arms were still being restrained, she was not even able to put her hand to her cheek to lessen the sting, and her tears continued to flow.

"Will you walk down the aisle without protest or do I make you drink your medicine now?" asked Lady Florence with a smirk, reaching into the depths of a small reticule she had brought with her from the carriage.

Molly's lips trembled. "I... I will walk," she whispered miserably. Time was running out.

She walked slowly down the aisle, with Lady Florence on one side and Magnussen still holding her arms behind her in a cruel grip that showed he would not allow her to escape. Smith had hurried down the aisle to take up his position in front of the altar.

Molly walked as slowly as she dared, only moving faster when Magnuson pushed her in the back and almost made her stumble. Her back also ached from where it had bumped against the base of the carriage when the men had carried her out of it. She counted the wooden pews as she walked, twelve on either side. The church was barely more than a chapel. Yet both sides had two long stained-glass windows through which pale sunlight filtered. One window showed an angel and the window next to it had a cross. On the other side there was a nativity scene while the final image was of Jesus. How had a holy place like this become a place where corruption was evident in the person of its parson, Smith? Molly wondered.

And then she was standing in front of the parson, as Lady Florence held that concoction in her hand, ready to force it down her throat at the first sign of a struggle. Magnussen still held Molly's arms behind her in a restraining grip. Molly knew that her only hope lay in not signing the register, confirming the false date of the nuptials, but she knew despairingly that she would be forced to do so as soon as the marriage service was over.

"Dearly beloved," began Smith in a stentorian voice, as he held open a book which contained the words for the marriage service. As he intoned the words, Molly thought of how beautiful her own simple wedding ceremony had been, because she had been with the man she loved, even though he had not yet known he loved her. She imagined that it was Sherlock standing next to her but was pulled out of her reverie as the parson reached the point in the service to where he asked if there were any objections.

And then came a voice from the back of the church, a voice she knew so well, deep, rich, masculine and full of authority. "I object."

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** Of course, I had to address the evil step-mother thing. I hope you liked the machinations of Florence and her lover to try and manipulate things so that it would appear Molly was married to Magnussen instead. I could have ended with them standing at the altar, about to be married, but I felt compelled to add that little bit of hope at the end. I mean, we knew Sherlock was going to come after his beloved, didn't we? Did you enjoy the addition of Culverton Smith? He's always a good villain too.

How did you find this chapter? Are you eager to see how Sherlock will save Molly, and how he was able to find her?

I crave your feedback, dear readers! If my type of Victorian Sherlolly is something you really want to see more of, make sure you let me know. Right now, it is way down on my list of priorities, but if enough people really want more of this kind of story, tell me so and I may begin work on another of these. Right now I have no more of this type of story written, although I have a title, and a cover photo if I decide to write it - "The Duke and the Preacher'sDaughter." Would you read it? Would you help support me in my writing aspirations with your favourites/follows and reviews? You have the power to determine my future direction!


	17. Rescued by Love

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the seat next to him, impatient to reach _The Fox_ and return to Molly. He wished he had not accepted the food from Mycroft, but had just returned to the inn. However, it was too late now. He looked out the window of the carriage at the rain, which continued to come down steadily.

As soon as he arrived and stepped into the inn, wiping his hessian boots at the entrance and running his hands through his hair that had been dampened by the rain, Sherlock noticed John holding an agitated conversation with the proprietor of the inn, and a sudden prickle of apprehension ran through him.

He strode over to his friend and stood in front of him. "What's going on, John?" he demanded, noting his friend's heightened colour and tense stance.

John gave him a rather nervous look, as he shifted uncomfortably, moving his weight from one foot to the other. "It's Molly. She's gone."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open. "What the hell do you mean, _she's_ _gone_?" he asked, as fear rose within him. "One thing, John. I asked you to do _one_ thing, look after her. How could she be gone?"

John shrugged helplessly, and drew his brows together. "I don't know, Sherlock. I left her in her room so I could talk to the proprietor of the inn. When I returned to her room, she was not there, so I came back downstairs and asked around. Nobody has seen her." And then he added hopefully, "Perhaps she has just taken a walk?"

Sherlock blew out an exasperated breath. "In this rain?" he asked acidly. His stomach was churning now with fear. "You should not have let her out of your sight until I returned, or at least until you knew for sure there was no danger," he grated.

"I messed up, Sherlock. I'm sorry, truly I am," responded John in a tone of sincere regret. "I'll do anything I can to help you find her."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to focus. Anger would not get him anywhere or bring Molly back. he took several deep, calming breaths, and finally said, "I'm going to go to our room and see if I can deduce what might have happened."

He almost ran up the stairs in his haste, taking the steps two at a time, with John following right behind. Sherlock swung the door open and looked around the room. The bed was still made, although he noticed a slight indentation where Molly had obviously sat for a short time, and the baggage had not yet been opened. He walked over to the washbasin and saw it had been used. Presumably Molly had washed her face when she had entered the room. He looked along the floor, trying to detect if there were any signs of a struggle, and his eyes alighted upon something shiny. He stooped down to pick it up, and his heart lurched as he saw it was the signet ring he had given to Molly as a wedding ring. He knew then for certain that something untoward had happened to her. She would never have willingly taken it off unless she was in trouble.

Despite his fear, he couldn't help murmuring, "Clever girl."

John, who had been looking in another part of the room, being of absolutely no use, walked to him and asked, "What was that?"

Sherlock swallowed and held up the ring. "I'm certain my wife has been kidnapped. And even more certain that she left this on the floor as a clue to show that is what happened."

John opened and closed his mouth again in astonishment, bemused.

Sherlock frowned at him. "Do stop acting like a goldfish. Come on man, let's go. The game is afoot. It's time to find out what happened to my wife."

Slipping the signet ring back onto his own finger, he hurried out of the room and made his way downstairs, looking back-and-forth until he spotted the proprietor, even as John trailed behind once more.

He spotted the man in the dining room and walked straight to him, demanding, "When did you last set eyes on the titled lady who was here last week, Lady Florence Hooper?"

The man scratched his head and looked from Sherlock to John, then back again. "As I said to your friend, she left three days ago, and I haven't seen her since."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose as he had done earlier and thought for a moment, pressing his lips together. Then he announced, "Let's go and have a look in the coach yard, John." He walked briskly to the front of the inn, opened the door and stepped out into the rain. It had dissipated somewhat, but was still coming down enough that it was beginning to make the coach yard muddy.

He observed that there was a phaeton and barouche in the yard as well as the carriage in which he had arrived. An ostler was beginning to unharness the first of the four horses from the carriage, and Sherlock strode over to him. "Stop!" he commanded. "I will be needing the carriage again shortly." Fortunately the horses were still fresh, as the ride from where he had been debriefed and the inn was only a fifteen minute journey.

"Yes, my lord," responded the man, refastening the harness on the horse that he had just loosened.

Sherlock's keen eyes looked around the coach yard once more. He immediately spotted recent wheel marks from another carriage, and pointed it out to John.

"There was another carriage here, and recently," he informed his friend. He peered down at the tracks, then raised his head and looked at John. "I presume that this is the carriage that was used to kidnap Molly. By the amount of rain in the indentation from the wheel marks, I would deduce that the carriage has only left here approximately one hour ago."

John furrowed his brow. "That's all well and good, Sherlock, but which way did the carriage go? North or south?

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brain? It must be so boring," retorted Sherlock, rolling his eyes and starting to walk towards the road. Then he stopped and turned his head to look at John, feeling that Molly would not approve of him talking in such a manner. "Sorry. As you can tell, I'm a little agitated at the moment."

He resumed walking to the edge of the coach yard and pointed. "You can clearly see the width of these wheel marks matches those of the marks in the yard, and they are heading north. Furthermore, if you note the area in front of the carriage wheels, you can see it was pulled by a pair of horses, rather than a team of four. If we hurry, perhaps we shall be able to overtake them, wherever they are headed."

John expelled a long breath. "Well, I suppose I should go fetch the coachman so we can pursue the carriage. I assume you have weapons?"

Sherlock let out a short burst of laughter, even as he ran his hands through his hair unconsciously. "Of course, John. This is Mycroft's personal carriage. He is always prepared. After all, one never knows when one might be set upon by highwaymen or footpads. Stamford always carries a pistol on him when he is driving the team. Hurry along into the inn and fetch him, while I procure another two pistols from inside the carriage," ordered Sherlock loftily. Even as he showed himself outwardly to be sure of himself, Sherlock feared that he might be too late. He had a sneaking suspicion that Molly's stepmother planned to find a way to still have her stepdaughter's money.

"A 'please' would be nice," muttered John as he turned to head back into the inn, and Sherlock suddenly felt ashamed of himself.

"Please, John," he added in a softer tone of sincerity, and John gave him a smile of acknowledgment and hurried inside.

Sherlock climbed back into the carriage he had so recently vacated and lifted the seat. Inside were several weapons, and he chose two pistols. They were, of course, already loaded.

As soon as John exited the inn, with Stamford in tow, Sherlock gave the man instructions. "We will be heading north, and I need you to look at the width of these carriage wheel marks. Undoubtedly, the carriage we are looking for will be a closed one, in order to keep prying eyes away from seeing who is inside. It is being pulled by a pair of horses, so we will make better time with our four."

"Yes my lord," responded the coachman, as he got ready to climb onto the box.

Then Sherlock decided it would be better if he drove the team himself. Stanford did not have the powers of observation he himself had. "On second thought," he told the coachman, "give me your pistol and I will tool the horses myself. I would still like you to come along in case we need extra support in apprehending the criminals."

Sherlock climbed onto the box and picked up the reins, as Stamford and John made their way into the carriage and closed the door. Within two minutes, they were off, heading north.

As Sherlock urged the horses on, he reflected it was as well he was skilled in driving a team of the animals, having learned at a young age to be a good rider, and later to drive his own horses when he needed to be in disguise for various missions. He handled the reins capably, avoiding the many ruts in the road, and keeping a sharp eye out for those indentations that might indicate the carriage he was looking for had passed before. Fortunately, the rain seemed to have kept most people off the roads.

He had been on the road for only fifteen minutes when he saw a large indentation at the side of the road. He pulled the horses over to a standstill.

John immediately opened the carriage door and called out to him. "What's going on, Sherlock?"

Sherlock peered down at the deep groove. "A stroke of luck, I think. It appears the carriage we are pursuing was stuck for a time in the mud. Look at how deep the channel is that has been made by the wheel rocking back and forth as someone attempted to pull it out." He bent down a little farther. "In actual fact, it looks like more than one person, judging by the two distinct sets of footprints around the channel."

"Is there a point to this?" asked John, a little peevishly.

"Close the door, John. I was merely remarking upon the fact that something happened here, and it was undoubtedly something which should play into our favour," I Sherlock remarked to his friend, picking up the reins once again.

By this time the rain had lightened substantially, and Sherlock shook his hair back and forth. _Infernal rain_ , he thought disagreeably. It was turning his curls into an unruly mop. Although, he reflected, without the rain, it would have been almost impossible to determine where the kidnappers had gone with Molly. If Molly had been present, he was sure she would have said that God's hand was upon them.

Within fifteen minutes, he caught sight of the spire of a church and had a sudden overwhelming feeling that this was his destination. As he drew closer, he looked closely for those telltale carriage wheel marks, and saw the curve as they turned.

 _Yes_ , he thought triumphantly, schooling the horses expertly into the churchyard, where there was indeed a closed carriage, and a sleepy looking coachman sitting on the box. The man looked up as he heard the new vehicle arriving, and Sherlock took up his pistol, training it upon the man who seemed rather discombobulated.

Sherlock pulled the horses to a standstill, keeping the pistol trained on the coachman who raised his hands. The carriage door opened and John immediately stepped out, also holding his pistol, as did Stamford.

By now, the rain had almost stopped, and Sherlock hopped down from the box. "Were you transporting a man and a woman and a younger woman?" he demanded, looking at the bemused coachman.

He saw the man swallow convulsively. _Coward_ , thought Sherlock dismissively. This type of man was only in it for the easy money.

"Please don't shoot me," babbled the man. "They went into the church five minutes ago. I ain't got nothin' to do with it. They just hired me for the job."

Sherlock curled his lip in disgust. "If you leave right now, I won't set the authorities on you, and you can consider yourself lucky," he told the coachman, who was obviously intimidated by his authoritative tone.

"Yes sir, yes sir," he said, wasting no time in picking up his reins and driving out of the churchyard as quickly as possible.

"We must hurry, John," urged Sherlock, as he sprinted towards the door of the church, feeling rather grateful for his long black hessian boots which protected his pantaloons from becoming muddy. John and Stanford were right behind.

As soon as Sherlock entered the church foyer he blinked a little to adjust his eyes to the dim interior, then heard a parson's voice saying words from a marriage service, and he realised exactly what was happening.

Even as the parson asked if there were any objections to the marriage, Sherlock stepped out of the shadows and in a clear, authoritative voice said, "I object," as he noted that Molly stood between a woman and a man who was pinning her arms behind her back.

The three people standing in front of the parson whirled around in shock, two of them horrified at seeing the pistols he, John and Stamford had trained on them, and the other with an expression of such thankfulness and joy, that he almost dropped his pistol at the wonder of it.

The older woman dropped something, which fell to the floor and shattered, and then she stood behind Molly, using her as a shield. The man had released his firm grip on Molly as well in his surprise at the turn of events.

Sherlock was most impressed then, when his wife, taking advantage of no longer being restrained by the man next to her, dug an elbow back into the older woman's ribs and began to run towards Sherlock.

Suddenly, Sherlock saw the man he was certain was Magnussen reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out a silver pistol of his own. Sherlock didn't know who the man intended to attack, but he was taking no chances. He took aim, glad that Molly was not in his line of fire, and pressed the trigger of his pistol. Magnussen crumpled immediately, as blood leeched out of a hole right in the centre of his forehead.

Florence Hooper, that is presumably who she was, Sherlock mused, shrieked and tried to run behind the altar. Unfortunately for her, due to the mud on her slippers from being outside, she lost her balance as she tried to flee, and fell heavily against the sharp, solid wooden corner of the altar, then dropped to the ground, and lay completely still. Sherlock had observed her trajectory as she fell against the altar, and knew that she had hit her temple fatally.

The parson made no attempt to flee, apparently being another coward who valued his own life more than anything else.

Everything seemed to happen in a blur, first Magnussen fell, followed by Florence. Then the parson walked forward with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, even as Molly reached Sherlock, wrapped her arms around him, and hid her face against his chest.

Stamford and John came forward to restrain the parson, walking him outside to the carriage, even as Sherlock dropped his pistol to the ground and his arms encircled his wife.

"You…saved me, Sherlock," Molly cried. "I prayed you would find me and you did!"

Sherlock placed a gentle hand under her chin and tilted it upwards. "Are you hurt, my love? I came as quickly as I could. I found your clue." He saw that one of her cheeks was slightly red, as if she had been struck, and could not help clenching a fist. Then he forced himself to unclench it again. If that woman had hit Molly, it was no longer of any consequence. She was already dead, as was her lover. He flicked a glance over at the two prostrate forms, then looked back at Molly as she spoke.

"I am…alright. They had a plan. The parson changed the dates to reflect that my stepmother's lover and I were married already more than a week ago, before I boarded your ship. If I had signed the marriage register, there would have been no proof to show the date was not accurate."

"Oh, my poor love. It is over, and you are safe. Your stepmother and her lover are both dead," he told her, caressing her cheek gently, and then his lips were on hers, desperate and longing, for he knew he had almost lost her.

She responded, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his, kissing him just as desperately.

They were still kissing a few minutes later, when a polite cough caused them to part, and they turned to see John.

"The parson has been tied up, and funny thing, he can't stop confessing his misdeeds. It's really quite amusing. He even admitted that Molly's father was drugged in order to marry that Florence woman." He picked up the pistol Sherlock had dropped.

Sherlock gave a grim smile, and bent to lift Molly into his arms, so she would not need to walk in the mud. They exited the church behind John who waited for them to come out and then closed the door behind them, leaving the bodies of the kidnappers behind. Sherlock would alert the authorities as soon as they returned to the inn, and he knew Mycroft could be counted on to ensure there would be no scandal surrounding the deaths of the two people in the church.

Molly was safe, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This was such a satisfying chapter to write. I don't like to leave loose ends, and I would not have wanted Molly to continue to be in danger in the future.

I hope you enjoyed the way I wrote Sherlock's deductions. I don't find it easy to do that kind of thing, I'm much better with the romance aspect, so i'm crossing my fingers that it worked, and seemed plausible.

I thought it would be amusing to have a little canon with Culverton Smith confessing, as he did in the show. And of course, the method in which Magnussen was killed. I tried to create these little touches to remind the reader that this is a Sherlock story. Same goes for Sherlock's rather rude comment to John, which I borrowed from _A Study in Pink_.

Any thoughts you have on the chapter that you care to share, are most appreciated.


	18. Too Precious to Lose

**Author's note:** Thank you to everyone who has been faithfully supporting this story, especially those who have been reviewing it chapter by chapter. Your support and encouragement of my work means so much to me and keeps me motivated to continue writing. For the majority of you who rarely, or do not ever leave any type of feedback, please consider this. What takes you maybe 5 to 10 minutes to read, takes many hours of effort by fanfiction writers who have to not only write the story, but also go back and edit/revise/proofread multiple times in order to make it fit for publication. When you leave a review, in essence, you are giving a "tip" to the author, to show your appreciation for a job well done. Those "tips" give us the same job satisfaction as you get in the work place when you are thanked, or at school when a teacher tells you how well you've done. It costs you nothing but a few moments of your time to type a few letters into that review box. Something to think about...

* * *

As Molly curled her arms around Sherlock's neck while he carried her out to the waiting carriage, she noticed that the rain had completely stopped. The sun had emerged from behind the clouds and was casting a glow on the landscape, almost as if it was welcoming her and Sherlock, and that they need have no more fear about the future. Now that her stepmother was dead, Molly knew she was truly free.

John opened the carriage door for Sherlock, who managed to get her inside it in a much more graceful manner than in which she had been pulled out of the other one. Her back still ached a little where it had bumped the floor of the other carriage earlier. Sherlock deposited her on the seat gently and sat beside her.

Instead of entering the carriage himself, John looked at the two of them and said, "Well, I think I might take the air instead and sit on the box with Stamford, now that the rain has stopped. Then I can also keep an eye on that parson as well."

"Thank you, John," responded Sherlock to his friend, who then closed the door of the carriage to climb onto the box With the other two men, and Molly knew John was being kind in allowing Sherlock and herself some privacy, especially as the coachman's box was not really designed to accommodate three people, so it was sure to be a little uncomfortable.

Even as the carriage started moving, Molly suddenly felt the events of the past several hours washing over her as shock set in. She had come so close to losing everything and tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the horror she had felt, and her despair and fear of losing everything she held dear. Sobs wracked her body, and Sherlock's arms came around her comfortingly, as she buried her face against his chest.

His hands moved in comforting circles along her back as he murmured that she was safe, and that everything would be okay now. Even as she cried, she remembered the way he had comforted her after that sailor had tried to force himself upon her. Sherlock's movements had been more awkward at that time, but now he held her protectively and she felt loved and cherished.

Finally the tempest stopped and she raised her head. "Will you tell me what happened, how you found me?" she asked him.

"I need to do one thing first," he replied and she looked at him questioningly.

She watched him put his hand into his pocket and extract the signet ring she had dropped for him. Then he gently replaced it on her finger, saying, "This is just temporary, my love. Once we get to London I will replace it with a proper wedding band. There is also a sapphire ring that belonged to my grandmother which I will give you as an engagement ring. I am only sorry we did not do things in the traditional manner."

Molly looked at him with shining eyes. "That sounds lovely, but I care nothing for ostentation. All I care about is that you love me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "So you do not wish for an engagement ring, then?"

Molly giggled and blushed. "Just because I do not need anything but your love, does not mean I will not accept such a gift if you should wish to give it to me."

Sherlock smiled and tilted her chin up in order to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "It is what I wish, my sweet angel," he declared, and then it was time for him to explain how he had found her.

He explained to Molly the deductions he had made that led to him finding her in that church.

She in turn told him of the events that had transpired after she had left him at the harbour, and the conversation she had overheard between her stepmother and Magnussen when she had pretended to still be unconscious.

Sherlock touched Molly's cheek gently. "I can't believe that woman had the nerve to slap you," he said fiercely, looking into her eyes.

Molly raised her hand to place it against his, where it rested on her cheek. "It doesn't hurt anymore, and there is no point in being angry about it. Would you kiss me again now? I don't want to think about that anymore."

Instead of responding with words, Sherlock responded with action, bending his head and touching her lips with his own, and Molly felt sensations swirling within her as she always did when they kissed. His lips were possessive and demanding, and they made her forget everything but the wondrous feel of being in his arms.

It was with a sense of regret that she felt the carriage come to a standstill, and knew they had arrived back at the end. Sherlock released his hold on her, and they were both sitting demurely when Stamford opened the carriage door.

Molly couldn't help giggling when Sherlock insisted on carrying her into the inn, declaring he was not about to let her feet get dirty now, after he had managed to keep them dry thus far.

As soon as he set her down inside, he told her, "Much as I hate to let you out of my sight for one second, I must make sure the authorities take that corrupt parson into custody and alert them to what has happened. I must also be in contact with Mycroft, to make sure no problems arise as a result of what has occurred."

He looked at John, who had followed them inside. "I am sure there is no danger now, but please, don't lose my wife again. She happens to be rather precious to me." His lips quirked upwards a little, to show that he was not really cross with John for the events that had occurred. She was safe and that was all that mattered.

John's expression was serious though as he responded. "I won't let her out of my sight until you return, Sherlock."

True to his word, John remained with Molly in the dining room as she enjoyed a calming cup of tea and scones. She saw Captain Lestrade enter the room a little while later and he greeted them. He also seemed rather taken with the waitress who served him, named Lori, who had also served Molly.

John told Molly about Mary, his lady love, who awaited him back in London. "I think I will leave first thing in the morning, now that everything is finished with the mission. There is no need for me to wait for _The Black Pearl_ to arrive, and I am rather anxious to return to my own lady." He winked at Molly and added, "Seeing the two of you together has helped me to decide it is time to offer for her hand."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "Oh, that's wonderful news. I look forward to meeting her."

He beamed. "I'm sure the two of you will get along very well."

After what seemed like an age, but was really less than two hours, Sherlock returned and sought Molly out. He sat down in the chair beside her and expelled a breath.

John and Molly looked at him expectantly. "Everything has been taken care of," he announced, taking Molly's hand and stroking it lightly. She trembled slightly at his touch.

"Would you...would you like something to eat?" She looked at him shyly as she spoke.

His lips quirked, as he slid his glance to John, then back to Molly. "Actually, I think I would prefer to have a rest. It has been a rather emotional day, do you not agree?" His hand continued to stroke hers, and she saw a look in his eyes which she was certain meant he wished her to accompany him to their room.

"I do indeed agree, and I must concede that I should like to have some rest as well." She blushed a little, because of the smirk on John's face.

He only said however, "You two had best be off, then. I think I shall go and chat with Captain Lestrade, then have an early night. I told Molly I'm off to London first thing in the morning. It is time for me to make an honest woman of my Mary."

Sherlock's brows rose a fraction. "Am I to assume this decision has been precipitated by my own hasty marriage?"

John grinned. "Quite possibly, my friend."

Sherlock smiled. "I wish you a good night John, and I shall see you in London again soon." He rose from his seat, then went to assist Molly from hers, and taking her hand they went upstairs together.

As soon as they entered their room, Sherlock closed and locked the door behind him. Then he said, "Tomorrow morning we shall find a shop and purchase you some new gowns and underthings to wear until we have the chance to have you fitted for a trousseau in London."

Molly frowned at that, and shook her head quickly. "Sherlock, I do not need a new trousseau. I have many gowns at my father's house in Mayfair. I need only go there, and now that my stepmother is gone, I assume that the house will belong to me, or rather, you, now that you are my husband." There was a caressing note in her voice as she said the last word.

Sherlock put his hand under her chin and lifted it. "Very well. As soon as we arrive in London, we can take care of all the legalities. However, I must confess that I am very glad that I shall have no need of your money once my reward for this mission comes through."

She reached up and put her hands around his neck to pull him closer. "I am happy to give everything I have to you, my love. All I have is yours." Now her voice held a note of passion.

He quirked an eyebrow at her and the corner of his lips twitched, as he placed his free hand against the small of her back."Everything, my love, including your sweet, captivating body?" His voice was deep and low and she thrilled at it.

She pressed herself closer. "Everything," she breathed.

He lowered his lips to hers and began to kiss her, even as his hands moved to roam her body, within a very short time seeking the fastenings at the back of her gown. Task accomplished, he slid the gown down to view her uncorseted figure, and his hands caressed her breasts, then his mouth.

She threw her head back and whimpered, giving herself over to the thrilling sensations his caresses evoked in her. Even in the short space of time they had been married, his touch had become more sure, more confident, as he learned what her body responded to.

Her own hands reached for the buttons on his shirt so that she could unfasten them, and his breathing grew ragged even as she pushed it aside to slide her hands along his chest. Daringly, her hands moved down to his own trousers, and she gasped as she became aware of the full extent of his need for her.

Sherlock offered her a lopsided grin. "You see what you do to me, my sweet little wife?" He proceeded to remove the rest of his clothes, followed by hers, then lifted her into his arms to place her on the enormous bed, as he continued his adoration of her. His fingers danced along her skin, as he moulded himself to her, and their bodies entwined in that union of intimacy which brought such joy and fulfillment.

For some time, the only sounds in the room were the soft murmurs and cries of love and passion between them.

Afterwards, Sherlock's fingers drifted along Molly's skin as she lay in his arms,. "I still cannot comprehend how I spent so much of my life hating women, abhorring sentiment, and yet within a few days of you entering my life, you turned my world upside down. What did I do to deserve you, Molly?"

She tilted her head up to look into his face. "It was God's timing, Sherlock. He set the things in motion for our paths to cross at exactly the right time. God is the one who weaves the intricate tapestry of our lives."

His finger stilled on her skin suddenly, and his gaze was thoughtful. "I have often thought that the world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing every other. What you are saying is that God weaves those lives, our lives, so that they intersect."

Her hand reached out to caress his cheek. "That is it exactly, Sherlock. I believe that God is ultimately the one in control, the one who sets things in place for us. I also believe that at the end of our lives we will be able to see how God worked all things for good for us. But at the same time we are the ones who must make the decisions on which paths to take."

He reached his hand up and placed it over hers, then shifted it so he could kiss her palm. "For one so small in stature, you are very wise, my darling. I am very glad that God laid a path for me to you."

Molly quivered at his touch, yet pouted a little. "Size has nothing to do with wisdom. Wisdom comes from being open to learning new things." Then the pout disappeared as her lips curved upward. "However, I must agree that I too am glad you followed that path to me."

He bent his head to settle a gentle kiss on her lips and they slept.

When they woke, they dressed once again and headed downstairs in order to take a late meal.

There was a general air of merriment in the inn as several of the sailors from _The_ _Sherrinford_ came in to enjoy mugs of ale. Once _The Black Pearl_ and the treasure within it arrived safely on the morrow, they would all receive their share of the reward.

Molly was slightly apprehensive, fearing that she might see once again the crew member who had accosted her, and Sherlock noticed her distress.

He led her to a table in a quiet corner, far away from the scene of merrymaking. After the same waitress from earlier had taken their orders, he took Molly's hand. "What ails you, my love?"

Molly cast a nervous glance in the direction of the sailors, then turned her head back to Sherlock. "I was wondering if that man, you know, the one from the ship who tried to force himself on me, was here." She bit her lip, looking around once again.

Her fears were allayed, however, at Sherlock's next words. "If he were here, I can assure you that he would not get anywhere near you, however, in this case it is not possible. He happens to be one of the crewmen who is on _The Black Pearl_ currently. I made sure of that." His hand tightened on hers.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. I really have no desire to see him again." Then she pressed her lips together again. "Tomorrow, when _The Black Pearl_ arrives, do you wish me to be at the dock with you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "That will not be necessary. As it happens, after I left here with John earlier, once I had seen that that parson, Smith, was escorted to jail, I went to see Mrs. Hudson, whose sister happens to live in Dover, and she is currently visiting with her. I asked if I might leave you with her temporarily, while I see to things and make sure everything from _The Black Pearl_ is brought ashore. When everything has been done, I will return to you with a carriage and we will head for London." His gaze flickered a little and he looked somewhat embarrassed. "I have a small residence in Baker Street. I know it is not something nearly as impressive as what you are used to but once I receive the reward for this mission, there will be enough money for me to purchase our own home."

Molly was about to respond, but their meals came at that moment and they ate quietly, with little conversation. She was thinking about Sherlock's words about them buying a home. He had obviously forgotten their earlier conversation about her father's house.

Lestrade came over briefly to chat with them, and he mentioned that he planned to go for a late supper with Lori, once she was finished with her duties for the evening. Molly was glad for him. The captain had always seemed to be a very pleasant man and she hoped he would have a chance at happiness, even as she had found it with Sherlock.

A short time later, in their room once more, Molly broached the subject of them having their own home. "Sherlock, it is not necessary for you to purchase a home of our own. I told you earlier that my father's mansion is now rightfully mine. There are no relatives to inherit the title, so the house will revert to me as the last in the line of succession. He told me this himself, before he married Florence. Of course, things changed once he married her, but now that she is dead, I'm certain that I am the rightful owner."

She looked apprehensively at Sherlock whose brows were drawn together. "I do not like to think of being a kept man, Molly. I wish to be the one to take care of _you_ , not the other way around."

She pressed her lips together and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Well, if you feel so strongly about it, I have a solution for that."

His brows lifted at that and she knew he was surprised at her fierce manner towards him. "And what is your solution, my little tigress?"

Her lips twitched at that. "It is quite simple. Once the ownership of the house is established as being mine, I shall sell it to you, and it will rightfully belong to you. Then my money can be kept in trust for any future children we are blessed with."

He stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. "That is indeed a practical solution." He stepped closer and slid his arms around her waist. "So now that our future living arrangements have been made, I think it is time for us to explore some other, less practical pursuits."

He bent his head and captured her lips with his own even as she removed her hands from her hips to slide them around his neck and tangle her fingers in his curls, luxuriating in the feel of him, as always.

He proceeded to lavish her with kisses, using his hands and his mouth to evoke wild sensations within her, until she was begging for him, crying for him to be one with her.

And for the second time that day, they gloried in their union, as two became one flesh. As they rode and crested the waves of ecstasy, Molly couldn't help the tears that trickled down her cheeks, tears of joy that she was, at last, safe in the arms of the man she loved, the man for whom she had been created, and who indeed God had created for her as well; and when Sherlock noticed her tears as he moved his body from hers to lay next to her, he drew her close and kissed the tears away tenderly, understanding her feelings without words. Before long, they were both lost to slumber.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** Bet you're glad I didn't finish the story at the end of the last chapter, aren't you? I used some of Sherlock's own words from the show to include a little talk about God. I'd love to know what your thoughts are on the way God works in our lives.

Two chapters left. The next one takes place several months later, and the last one will take place in the "real" world. I hope to have it finished before I leave next week on a school trip for several days which I am chaperoning.

The review box below is calling your name :)


	19. Born of Love

**Six months later...**

A lot had happened in the six months that had elapsed since Sherlock and Molly had spent that night in the inn, celebrating their love for one another.

Sherlock had been on hand to witness _The Black Pearl_ dock in the harbour, and to see the treasure safely brought to shore. On the last day, a rough storm had assaulted the vessel, which had delayed its arrival by a day, and one sailor had been washed overboard. Sherlock had been secretly pleased that the victim had been the sailor who had accosted his wife. _Poetic justice,_ he thought with grim satisfaction, upon hearing the news. Molly, with her soft heart, had expressed sadness at the loss, but he knew she too was secretly relieved that there would no longer be any chance of the man seeking vengeance upon them for his treatment at Sherlock's hands.

Queen Victoria herself had been so delighted with the safe return of her new jewels, and that Moriarty was no longer a threat to her subjects, that she had conferred upon Sherlock the newly created title of the Earl of Sherrinford, in honour of the name of the ship that had been instrumental in defeating the notorious criminal. Sherlock cared nothing for titles, of course, but he was rather proud to have been able to give his beloved wife the title of the Countess of Sherrinford as a result.

In addition, Sherlock had of coarse received his enormous reward as well, with which he was able to purchase the Hooper mansion which had indeed been rightfully claimed by Molly. They were now living there comfortably, although Sherlock still frequented his former residence in order to use it as an establishment where he continued working as a private detective. Surprisingly, Captain Greg Lestrade had decided to abandon his sea captain position in order to return to his former profession as a young man, when he had been a detective at Scotland Yard, before feeling the call of the sea. The near miss during that last mission had convinced him he belonged on land. Sherlock's assistance with some tricky cases had already helped him receive a promotion to detective inspector, and he consulted Sherlock regularly for help with more difficult cases.

Sherlock and Molly were also greatly anticipating the birth of their first child, which Sherlock believed had been conceived aboard ship. John had informed Sherlock that, due to Molly's rather large girth, that she might be having twins.

Sherlock had scoffed at that notion. "It's never twins, John," he exclaimed, and John head just shaken his head in amusement.

"It may never be twins when you are trying to determine a killer in one of those murder investigations of yours, but twins can certainly occur in pregnancy. You'll see."

Sherlock was still unconvinced, and the men now had a sizable wager riding upon it. In addition, Sherlock had agreed to another wager, that if it was indeed twins, and there was a boy, that he would name the child Hamish, in honour of John's middle name. Sherlock was confident that would not happen, however. In fact, he felt certain he was having a daughter, not a son. Sherlock looked forward to winning the bet, because it meant John would have to name his firstborn child, Sherlock, whether a boy or girl.

Now, he took Molly's hand as they walked towards their carriage to return home after attending the wedding celebration of John and Mary.

"You look so wonderful tonight, Sherlock," said Molly with a caressing note in her voice as he assisted her into the carriage. "And you acquitted yourself very well in the best man speech which I know you were worried about."

"Thank you, my love," responded Sherlock as he sat next to her, stretching out his legs while settling an arm around her shoulders.

She turned her head to kiss his cheek. "The way you even talked about some of the investigations you have done with John over the years when he has been available and not working as a doctor, it was remarkable hearing about your past exploits."

Sherlock smirked. "John and I have indeed been a good team over the years, but of course soon I will be needing him for his doctor skills to deliver our baby, rather than as an assistant in my detective practice. That is now my priority, rather than taking on new cases." Even as he spoke the words, he knew it was the truth. He still enjoyed helping out at Scotland Yard with various investigations, and with his private consulting practice, but he no longer craved those dangerous missions that had once been so important to him. Mycroft understood his new priorities, and despite the fact that he bemoaned the loss of his brother as a spy, Sherlock knew he was secretly looking forward to becoming an uncle.

Even after six months, Sherlock was amazed at the unexpected way in which he had found love. Molly never failed to inspire him, to make him want to be a better man. Six months earlier, he would have scoffed at the idea of attending church regularly, but now he did so and was glad of it. He had come to a new understanding that he was loved by God as well as his wife, and he believed now, as she didd, that their meeting had not been mere chance, but Providence.

"I've had a lovely day," murmured Molly, snuggling against him, "but I'm so tired after such a long day, and a bit uncomfortable as well."

Sherlock looked at her in concern, kissing her hair. "Well, you can't do this anymore, can you? No more long outings until the baby is born."

She sighed a little wistfully. "I guess you're right. I am so happy for John and Mary, though. She looked so lovely in her wedding gown."

Sherlock's hand squeezed her shoulder. "Do you regret not having a proper wedding of your own? Perhaps we should have arranged for a special church ceremony when we returned to London."

She looked up at him then. "My only regret is in that you did not get the chance to see me in a white gown, walking down the aisle towards you. I do not care for any of the pomp and circumstance that goes along with big weddings, nor do I have the relatives to fill a church. I am quite content in just having you as my husband. The precipitate manner in which we married is of no consequence."

"It certainly changed the direction of my life," commented Sherlock, reaching his hand to gently touch his wife's abdomen. "How could I have known the prospect of being a father would fill me with such anticipation. I cannot wait to meet our daughter."

Molly looked at him from beneath her lashes. "You are very certain of yourself, Sherlock. But what if it is a son, or indeed the twins which John expects?"

Sherlock crossed his legs and raised his hand to tilt his wife's chin and give her a soft kiss on the lips. "Whatever happens, my main concern is that you and our baby, or possibly babies, are healthy."

* * *

When Molly unexpectedly went into labour two and a half months later, Sherlock was panic stricken. Surely it was not yet time for her to give birth? He immediately dispatched a footman to send word to John that he should come immediately and attend to Molly.

Fortunately, John was home after a day in his own doctor's consulting rooms, and he was able to come immediately.

Mrs. Hudson, who had taken up residence in their mansion, in order to become the full-time cook, was also on hand with hot water and towels for the impending birth, as well as blankets in which to swaddle the baby, or possibly babies, as John continued to insist there was more than one child.

Although it was difficult for Sherlock to hear the cries of pain from his wife, and John said that husbands did not usually remain in the room while their wives were in the process of giving birth, Sherlock insisted on remaining beside Molly. He held her hand, even as at times she squeezed it so tightly he thought she might break it. His own fleeting pain was nothing compared to what she was going through.

In the early hours of the morning, Molly finally gave birth to a baby, a tiny girl who immediately screwed up her face and squalled loudly, showing that her small size did not mean underdeveloped lungs. Mrs. Hudson immediately took the baby and swaddled her, even as Sherlock bent over and kissed his wife's forehead which was unsurprisingly dampened with perspiration from her long hours of exertion.

"I told you it was a girl," he couldn't help crowing a little as he looked from his wife to John, then back at her. "I'm so proud of you, my love."

Molly smiled weakly at him and then her face contorted with pain once again, and Sherlock frowned. Wasn't the hard part over?

He looked with concern over at his friend, who pronounced, "See, Sherlock, I told you there was more than one baby, the other one will shortly make its entrance."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open in surprise. So, he had miscalculated once again, a rare occurrence, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. He could live with losing the wager to his friend, but naming a son Hamish would be torture for him, so he hoped for a second daughter.

He held Molly's hand once again as she bore down and only minutes later John produced the second baby, which was a son. For a moment, Sherlock was piqued, but then he thought in wonder, _I have both a son and a daughter. How blessed am I?_

Molly's hand relaxed in his own and her laboured breathing slowly returned to normal, now that her hard work was done.

The new baby also made his presence known with a loud cry, and soon both mother and father were given the opportunity to hold one of their newborns, whom John declared to be perfectly healthy.

Mrs. Hudson hovered about the new parents, clucking delightedly over the babies, whom she declared were both absolutely perfect.

Mrs. Hudson took Sherlock's son from him for a moment, and he bent over to kiss his wife's sweet lips, even as he brushed the damp hair from her forehead. "You have blessed me so much, my sweet, perfect little wife."

"We are both blessed," she responded, her voice a little stronger than it had been earlier.

He was fascinated to look down at his daughter's tiny, red, scrunched up face, and was rather irritated when John interrupted his reverie.

"Well, Sherlock, it appears you owe me some money, and I think I should get the opportunity to hold young Hamish now."

Sherlock straightened, looked over at John and frowned. "Must we really name him that?"

John folded his arms. "A wager is a wager, Sherlock, and you are honour bound to follow through."

Sherlock huffed. "Hamish it is," he muttered grudgingly, taking the baby from Mrs. Hudson's arms again. "I'm sorry, son," he murmured, before handing the infant to his best friend.

As if lamenting about his own name, the baby wailed lustily. "Young Hamish certainly has a pair of lungs on him, does he not?" remarked John with a smile at his friend.

"That is because he is upset with his name," Sherlock responded mournfully. Then he suddenly had an idea. "I don't use my first name, so I shall just call him by his middle name." He smirked at John, whose turn it was to frown.

"Might've known you'd find a way to get out of using it," his friend remarked in an aggrieved tone. "And what name, may I ask, will you use instead?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have no idea, I was not expecting us to have a son, so we are not prepared."

Mrs. Hudson interrupted their conversation. "Have you thought of a name for your daughter, then?"

Molly spoke from the bed. "I have always liked the name Louise, I had a friend in school by that name, so we have decided to name her Louise Martha Holmes."

Mrs. Hudson made an exclamation of delight. "Oh, my dear, what an honour it is that you are using my name! May I hold her for a moment?"

"Of course," replied Molly, smiling at the elderly woman, who gently took the baby from her arms.

Sherlock then retrieved his son from John. Molly had not yet held the son she had laboured to give birth to, and he decided it was past time she do so. He carried the infant over and placed him in Molly's arms, then asked, "Well, my love, what shall we give him as a middle name, that we may call him by that name?" He slid a sly glance over at John who pursed his lips.

Molly gazed at her son lovingly. "We have received a double blessing today, my love. Why not use the name which means blessing - Benedict?"

Sherlock smiled. "Hamish Benedict Holmes it is." He bent over and kissed his son's tiny cheek, then whispered, "Don't worry, you don't need to let anyone know your first name is Hamish until you wed. To us, you will always be Benedict."

Molly giggled at that. "Benedict and Louise, the names sound good together, don't they?"

Mrs. Hudson came over then and deposited little Louise into her father's arms so he could hold her for the first time, then she informed Sherlock, "It is time we get your wife comfortable and into a fresh nightgown. After that, I am sure the babies will be hungry for their first feeding."

Sherlock dutifully sat in an armchair with Louise, and the elderly woman brought over his son as well, so that one baby lay nestled in either arm, as Sherlock waited for Molly to be made comfortable. He gazed in adoration at the small faces of those tiny babies who had been born of love, and marvelled anew at the double blessing he and Molly had unexpectedly received.

"Congratulations, my friend," John said to Sherlock, as he prepared to take his leave, while Mrs. Hudson was attending to Molly. He raised a hand to briefly touch both infants gently, before clearing his throat. "I also have news for you."

Sherlock grinned up at him. "I think I can deduce what it is. Your wife is with child as well, is she not?"

John frowned a little. "How did you deduce that?"

Sherlock smirked. "When we saw you both last week, she mentioned that she had been feeling rather ill for several days, and I recalled that Molly exhibited those same symptoms soon after we knew she was with child." Then Sherlock said sincerely to his friend, "I must thank you for all you have done for us, and for your assistance in helping Molly to give birth. You are indeed a good friend."

John's lips twitched upward. "It was my pleasure, Sherlock. Besides, it was good practice for when I shall help Mary in a few months time with her own birthing process." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Well, it has been a long night, and I must be getting back to my own wife. Take care of your wife and babies, and I will see you soon." He rested a hand briefly on Sherlock's shoulder and said, "You are going to be a fine father, my friend." Then he took his leave.

Once Molly was settled properly in the bed, after Mrs' Hudson's tender ministrations, Sherlock rose from the armchair and carefully walked with the twins to the bed. Molly took first one, then the other and put them each to a breast, where they presently began to suckle.

Sherlock sat beside Molly, supporting his son with one hand while sliding an arm around his wife.

Mrs. Hudson gave the new parents an indulgent smile, then leaned over to kiss the babies and their parents fondly before also taking her leave so the little family could be alone.

It was the start of a new life for the four of them. Molly looked up at Sherlock adoringly, even as their babies continued to feed from her, and Sherlock bent his head to kiss her lips again. "I love you, my darling," he murmured, after their lips parted.

"I love you too, Sherlock," she responded, "always."

…/…/…/…/…/…/…/

 _ **Back in the real world**_

Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled, recalling the words of his dream Molly. "Always," he murmured.

He caressed his wife's belly, feeling the slight tautness that indicated their own baby was growing within her, although there was no outward sign of it, and she stirred, turning to face him, then opening her eyes fully to gaze at him.

"Did you finish your dream?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Indeed I did," he responded with a grin. "Do you want me to tell you about it?"

Molly raised a hand to tousle the curls on his forehead. "Of course."

So Sherlock began to relate the tale, beginning from where he had left off earlier.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Of course I am all about showing a happy epilogue to these stories. I hope in particular you got a little laugh out of the whole Benedict and Louise thing. I just had to do it, to give a nod to the wonderful actors who portray our beloved Sherlock and Molly. And it was fun to have that bit of teasing between Sherlock and John as well, with the name Hamish. I thought Sherlock deserved to be awarded a title as well. I slipped in a couple canon sentences from the series too - did you catch them?

Are you happy with the way I concluded things here? I tried to not leave any loose ends, and I just had to bump off that nasty sailor as well ha ha.

Are you looking forward to the final chapter? Will you be sorry to see this one end?

Don't forget to leave a "tip" if you liked this. *stares at review box below*


	20. Lovers in London

"So, where was I?" Sherlock asked Molly.

Molly furrowed her brow. "You told me your dream left off just as you were about to commit suicide in order to save your friends." She pursed her lips and frowned. "Come to think of it, that sounds eerily reminiscent of what you did when you threw yourself off the roof of Saint Barts."

Sherlock's lips twisted into a slight grimace. "I suppose my psyche chose this alternate scenario because of that experience."

"Well," said Molly, raising herself up on one elbow, "how did you survive? I'm assuming there wasn't an inflatable life raft below you that you jumped onto." Then she smirked. "Although that would have been rather funny, given the Victorian time period of the dream."

Sherlock let out a soft chuckle. "Indeed that would have been amusing, but no, my saviour was actually you." He turned his body so that he too was facing her.

Molly gave him a look of astonishment. "I saved you? But how?"

"As it turns out, I had given you a pistol for protection and told you to remain in your cabin. Anyway, you're going to love this. Your own character was also a Christian, and she was reading the Bible."

Molly smiled at him. "I like that. It's nice to know that even in a dream, there remains the essence of who we are as people in our real lives." Her stomach suddenly gave a gurgle. "Oh, why don't we continue this over breakfast?"

Sherlock pouted. Retelling the romantic part of the story might be best done in bed so he could lavish Molly with all the affection his dream counterpart had done. He looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was already after ten o'clock in the morning. It really was time to get out of bed, he realised. "Very well," he said, a little grudgingly, as he sat up.

Molly also sat up and got out of bed, then slipped on his blue dressing gown, which gave him a little hope for their later activities. She was out of the room and headed towards the kitchen before he had even made a move to get out of bed.

He spent a few moments replaying the dream in his mind palace, so he would not forget the details, then he got out of bed and put on his red dressing gown. At the same time, he realised that Molly may have only put on the dressing gown intending to go back to bed and sleep after breakfast. She had, after all, been on nightshift and was undoubtedly ready to sleep more.

He ducked into the loo and as he exited the bathroom, he could already smell the appetising aroma of bacon frying on the stove. Molly turned to him as he entered the kitchen. "Scrambled or fried eggs today, honey?" she asked, giving him an amused look when she saw he too wore only his dressing gown.

"Fried please," he responded, noting that she had already turned the kettle on.

He continued to relate the story, even as he prepared coffee for them, while Molly continued cooking their breakfast.

"As I was saying, you were reading your Bible and then you had this restless feeling. Then you heard Mrs. Hudson's voice, which sounded scared, and you realised that something had gone wrong. The little voice inside you told you to investigate."

Molly glanced at him briefly before turning her attention back to the eggs, flipping them over, and turning off the heat so the yolks would not overcook. She and Sherlock both liked their yolks to still be a little runny, so they could dip their toast into them. "Isn't it amazing how God can make something clear even in a dream?"

Sherlock put some bread in the toaster as he responded. "It is quite remarkable. To continue the story, you saw what was happening when you reached the deck. You could see the danger John and others were in, and that I was about to climb the railing, and a voice told you how to save me." He paused for a moment as he carried their coffee cups to the table, then continued. "You might not like this part too much, but you pulled out the pistol and shot Moriarty in the back of the head, because he was facing away from you."

"Oh my goodness," murmured Molly. "I must've been a good shot. Just as well it wasn't the real me, I wouldn't even know how to handle a gun." Her lips quirked, even as she began putting their bacon and eggs on plates.

Sherlock paused in his commentary, while he brought the toast over to the table and added them to the plates. Once they had begun eating, he continued with his story. "Well, you were certainly brave, and you saved the day, because the act of shooting Moriarty completely surprised his pirates and they were soon overpowered." Then he added, suddenly remembering this little point, "You had also overheard me confess my love for you to John."

Molly chewed and swallowed a bite of her eggs, then commented, "I suppose I rushed up to you and told you I loved you too."

Sherlock almost choked on his latest mouthful of food as he laughed. "Actually no. You fainted _again_. That was the third time you had fainted in the dream as well-"

"Hang on a minute," Molly interrupted, putting down her fork. "You never told me before that my character fainted. When did this happen?"

Sherlock pondered a moment. "The first time was after a bad storm, which was when I discovered you were a woman because your cap fell off when I was carrying you to the bed. You had insisted on going out into the storm to collect a tray of food for us. The second time was after that nasty sailor almost raped you."

He saw Molly cringe at that. "Well, dream Molly does sound like a typical Barbara Cartland heroine, I must say. In that way she's definitely not like me, though. I think my counterpart would not be very good when it came to working in a morgue and seeing all those dead bodies." Molly paused for a moment, then gave Sherlock a mischievous smile and said, "She would probably end up in another _dead_ faint." She laughed at her own little joke, even as Sherlock shook his head and chuckled as well. He remembered telling Molly not to make jokes on that long ago Christmas Day, but secretly, he quite enjoyed her rather morbid sense of humour. You definitely had to have one when you dealt with dead bodies all day long.

As they continued to eat, Sherlock related more of the story, explaining how he had kissed Molly after she had fainted, and confessed his love when she woke from her faint.

He explained how they had enjoyed a wonderful wedding night and then spent another three days together, staying in their cabin for most of it, even as _The Sherrinford_ returned to Dover, with _The Black Pearl_ following, having been commandeered by the _Sherrinford_ crew, and the treasure successfully found on the vessel.

Molly gathered their plates together to put into the sink. "So, all's well that ends well?" she asked.

"Hell, no," responded Sherlock. "The story is definitely not finished yet. Did you forget about the stepmother?" He stopped behind Molly and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

She hastily dropped the plates in the sink and turned in his embrace. "I _had_ forgotten, actually. So what happened with the stepmother, then?"

Sherlock gave her a smouldering look. "Why don't we finish the story in the bedroom?" he suggested.

Molly pulled back from him a little so that she could tap his chest with her finger. "I _knew_ you had ulterior motives when you didn't bother getting dressed."

Sherlock smirked. "Don't I always?" He bent down and put his hands on her bottom, then lifted her, and she obligingly wrapped her legs around him so he could carry her to the bedroom.

He had deposited her on the bed and was about to untie her dressing gown when she squirmed slightly. He looked at her in concern. "Morning sickness kicking in?"

She pressed her lips together and looked embarrassed. "No, I just need the loo. I wanted to get the breakfast started so I didn't go earlier."

He sighed a little. So much for a little seduction before telling the rest of the story.

She gave him an apologetic look and hopped off the bed, heading to the bathroom, while he removed his dressing gown and hung it back up, then slipped beneath the covers. It was as well he was not on a tight schedule today. He only had to stop into the Yard later, in response to a non-urgent request by Greg Lestrade.

When Molly returned, she arched an eyebrow at him. "You certainly didn't waste any time getting back into bed, did you"

He gave her a lopsided smile and made a gesture for her to join him. "I suggest, Mrs. Holmes, that you hurry up and get into bed if you want to hear the rest of the story."

She batted her eyelashes at him then and slowly untied the belt of her dressing gown, shimmying it off her shoulders and allowing it to slide down her body until it fell into a pool at her feet. _Always the temptress_ , he thought, even as she joined him under the covers and scooted her body close to his.

He drifted a hand along the side of her body, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin, but she pushed it away and gave him a mock frown. "Story first, lovemaking later," she said in a no-nonsense tone.

"You are no fun," he complained, pouting at her, upon which he was subjected to an eye roll by his wife.

Defeated for now, he proceeded to relate the rest of the story. He told her about her counterpart being kidnapped by her stepmother's lover, and the way she had dropped her wedding ring in order to leave a clue for him to show she had not left willingly. He explained how his own counterpart had made the deductions necessary in order to find her at the church where she was being forced into a marriage that would have been dated to a time before their own marriage, thus negating their nuptials aboard ship.

Molly put her hands to her mouth when she heard this and made an exclamation of horror. "Oh, Sherlock, this is so terrible. Surely you got there in time?" Then she gripped his shoulders.

He reached to pull her body against his. "Of course I did, or rather the dream me did." Then he offered a wry smile. "In fact, and here is another slice of art imitating real life, I shot Magnussen in the head and killed him when he pulled out his own pistol."

Her hold tightened on his shoulders. "Well, he deserved it. And the stepmother?"

"She slipped, thanks to having muddy slippers, hit her head against a corner of the altar and that was the end of her too."

Molly sighed with relief. "Thank heavens."

"It was a rather fitting end to the woman." Then he couldn't suppress a grin as he said, "At least dream Molly didn't faint again."

"That's probably because she had to toughen up in dealing with you on a full-time basis," his wife teased.

Sherlock's eyes danced as he responded. "I don't disagree. Although she did cry with relief afterwards in my, er, the other Sherlock's arms." He rolled his eyes. "It gets so confusing to relate a tale in which you are talking about a dream version of yourself."

Molly giggled, moving a hand to touch his curls. "I know that too well - remember when I was telling you about my uni dream? It was hard to know whether to say _she_ or _I_ when describing what happened. Same with the dream where I was a princess and you with my prince." She paused, then gave him an inquiring look. So was _that_ the end of the dream?"

Sherlock was starting to think this dream was taking altogether _too_ long to relate. He was ready to be done with it and take his wife properly in his arms for some non-verbal communication. He let out a deep breath. "Not quite. Can I tell you the rest later?" he began to move his hand in circles along her lovely warm back.

Molly let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure, but then she frowned at him. "No, you may not finish it later because you might forget the details."

Sherlock huffed. "You know very well I never forget the details of anything unless I consciously decide to delete them." When Molly gave him an exasperated look, he decided to just finish it and get it over and done with.

"Fine, fine. After everything happened, we went back to the inn and made love, twice." Molly's eyes widened slightly but she didn't say anything, so he continued. "After that, the next scene was six months later and we had just been at John and Mary's wedding. I had been given the title of an Earl which made you a Countess. You were six months pregnant. Apparently John and I had a wager because he said we were having twins, and I didn't believe it."

Molly laughed. "What is it about us and dreaming about babies? I guess it must be because I'm pregnant. I hope you found out if it was twins or not. " She sighed again happily aS Sherlock continued to rub her back. Thank God he was almost finished with the story now.

"Yes, the scene shifted to you giving birth. John delivered a little girl and I was all happy because we had another bet going. I had agreed to name a son Hamish, so I was pleased that we had a daughter. But then you went on to have a son as well, so it was twins after all."

Molly's fingers curled around Sherlock's neck. "So we had to name our son Hamish? Thank God it was just a dream."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, but we named him Hamish Benedict and I told John our son could go by his middle name. After all I don't go by my first name either."

"Benedict?" questioned Molly. "Where did that name come from?"

"From the dream version of you, actually. You said it means blessed and that it was appropriate because we had been blessed with twins." Sherlock kissed Molly's forehead.

"And did we name our daughter?" Her voice was a little breathless. Sherlock had moved his hand downwards to cup her bottom.

"Mhm. Louise Martha, after your school chum and Mrs. Hudson, who, incidentally, was on hand during the birth as well." His hand came back up to gently knead Molly's breast. "And that's the end. So now can we get on with our non-verbal communication, my love?"

Molly didn't answer, merely pulling his head down to hers so they could enjoy a very satisfying kiss. And when their need for more than kisses overwhelmed them, their bodies joined in joyful union.

Making love in the real world in their London home was eminently preferable to dreaming about it, even if a ship was a more exotic location, thought Sherlock afterwards, as he stroked Molly's hair tenderly. She gave him a drowsy smile and closed her eyes.

Even as her breathing became more regular and she drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help wondering about the baby she was carrying. Would it be a boy or girl? All this dreaming of twins had made him decide he was never going to proclaim "It's never twins" again. Soon they would hear their own baby's heartbeat. Sherlock hoped there was just one baby being nurtured by Molly's body. One baby would definitely be enough to contend with, but who knew? Maybe one day there would be twins in their future. Only time would tell.

 _ **THE END**_

* * *

 **Author's note:** Thus ends another of my labours of love. It's a rather bittersweet feeling to end a story that has taken so much of my time to create, especially in light of the fact that I don't know if I will have time to write another one in this Victorian genre.

If you enjoyed this, but have not yet tried any of my other stories, this will be your chance to do so while I am essentially off-line for a week. I will try to at least respond to any reviews I receive, but I will not be publishing anything while I am away, (that is going to be an adjustment for me, because I have been publishing three or more chapters per week since November, 2017). If the story of my "real" characters of Sherlock and Molly intrigues you, why don't you try reading it from the beginning with the engagement story? You will find lots of drama, romance, humour, angst in it as well as Christian themes. My goal has always been to provide more than mere entertainment for my readers, as I try to bring forth messages of hope and inspiration, and I hope that shows in the way I write. If you have found my writing to be an encouragement, let me know. I need encouragement on a consistent basis too. You can also check out my latest story, _I Love You - Two Years Later_ , if you'd like a glimpse into my future Sherlolly world. Your feedback on that one would also be appreciated, Don't just keep your thoughts to yourself. I wrote it for the 2nd anniversary of the final episode, which was 1/15/17.

As promised, here is a list of the people to whom I wish to extend my sincere thanks for their support.

 _ **ACKNOWLEDGMENTS**_

 **TheonewithwheelsASH** \- As usual, you make me smile with your unfailing support of my stories, and your willingness to share your own deductions on what will happen when you review each chapter. I'm proud to be your beta for your own story.

 **EllemichelleP** \- So happy you finally had time to read and catch up on this story, my friend! To see a bunch of reviews come in on the same day from you, well, to quote Sherlock, "It's Christmas!" Looking forward to our future collaboration this year.

 **Mamabear04** \- I value our friendship so much and always appreciate your insights into this story, and all the others you leave feedback on!

 **Comp1mom** \- You know how much you mean to me, both within the fanfiction realm and outside it. Thanks for your words of wisdom to me, and for your insightful reviews on my stories that show you are almost as invested in my little Sherlolly universe as I am!

 **Tboy1971** \- It might take you awhile to get to this last chapter, but I am always confident that you will get there in the end, and that you will consistently review when you do find the time to read! Thank you for the support!

 **SammyKatz** \- I am always in awe of how devoted a Sherlolly follower you are, and appreciate that you enjoy reading my stories!

 **Aslan's Princess** \- So delighted you've found my stories and are enjoying them. You're truly awesome! (added 7/10/19)

To all those (including guests) who have taken the time to express their appreciation for my storytelling, thank you. Like anyone else, I thrive when I hear from people and it inspires me to continue. I hope you will continue to read my other stories about Sherlock and Molly.

 **GoodShipSherlollipop**


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